Sea Salt
by SparrowNotes24
Summary: Describe yourself in three words. That's how I found myself beside the ocean, with sea salt tangled hair, sun kissed by a boy who showed me the answers. The boy in the shadows. The boy in the shade.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey, everyone. I've had this idea bubbling away for a while now and finally had some time to write it! I hope you'll enjoy. x**_

_**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters.**_

* * *

**_~ One ~_**

_Describe yourself in three words._

I tap my pen against the blank job application, insecurities piling up on me like a swarm of bees.

Why do they need to know? How can I possibly break myself down into three simple words, squash myself into neat little compartments?

_Adventurous. Bold. Brave._

Lie. Lie. Lie.

_Boring. Bland. Nobody._

It's not easy to have a vibrant, exciting life when you live in a backwater town buried in a forest. Everyone's known me since I was _knee-high to a grasshopper_, a _twinkle in my daddy's eye_, and so on. Achieving any kind of mystery is impossible.

In junior year, there was a transfer. Her name was Laila, and her hair was the color of black liquorice. Of course, every boy in school was in love with her. She was from the city. Her mother was a singer. Her father a vague notion. She smoked French cigarettes behind the art building and left shades of red lipgloss as her calling card.

I was in love with her, too. It wasn't a coincidence I wore my hair with a wave, turned faded Levi's into cutoffs revealing my milky white legs to the world—emulating the exotic and failing miserably.

Then I saw a smudge of scarlet on Tyler's lips, and that was the end of that.

Laila: _glamorous, sensual, loose._

I smile at that last one.

The trill of the phone is a welcome interruption.

The caller less so.

"Bella?" My father's girlfriend has a breathlessness to her voice which could be sweet but grates on my last nerve.

"Emily."

"Hope you don't mind me calling, but I wondered if you had plans for the summer?"

Silly question.

I don't respond immediately, and Emily's nerves spill over until she's babbling about getting to know me better—beach houses and sunshine.

"I'm not sure. I was going to get a job down at the Thriftway." I'm aware how pathetic this sounds.

The threat of rainclouds swarming outside the window makes the possibility of sun on my skin and sand in my toes all the more alluring. Not to mention the blank spaces on the job application and lack of anything interesting to fill them with.

Emily senses I'm melting and goes in for the kill. "You can do your own thing once we get there. It'd just be nice for you and your dad to see each other. We've rented a place for the whole summer. You could come for a weekend, a week, even a month. It's totally up to you. Charlie ... I mean your dad, said you love the water."

Charlie has a good memory for irrelevant details. He's forgotten about his daughter more than once.

I toy with the idea of my own space. Access to an easy escape route should I need it.

The empty summer before college stretching out in front of me and visions of my well-meaning mother hovering over my shoulder, force my hand.

"When are you leaving?"

Emily emits a squeal, causing my eyes to roll. "Next weekend. We can pick you up on the way or from the bus station. Whichever is easiest for you. Oh, your dad will be so pleased."

I hate to dampen Emily's enthusiasm, but the sigh slips out anyway. She's been banging the same drum since she waltzed into our lives, dismayed it wasn't all cookie cutter, happy families, and fairy dust. She's yet to give up on us.

We gave up a long time ago.

"I'll have a think about it and let you know."

Emily hangs up after a flurry of excited instructions, and I turn my attention back to the job application and my distinct lack of compelling attributes. But my heart's not in it. It's already lying on a secluded beach, lost in the heady mix of sea salt, sunshine, and potential.

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_**Choc & Kim, I heart you. For so many reasons, but encouraging me to write this is way up there.**_

_**GemmaH, PatesGreeneyes and Conks. Thank you for your invaluable help/beta'ing. You're all awesome.**_

_**Thanks to the fab ladies at TLS for having Sea Salt featured as one of their Sneak Peeks. **_

_**And, finally, thank you to the lovelies over at FicSisters who are featuring this story in their Elevator Pitch (and Choc for her lovely words). You can head over there now for a sneak peek at chapter 2! Ficsisters com**_

_**See you soon! xx**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_AN: When I uploaded the first chapter, it only had Bella listed in the characters and not Edward. I've now corrected it. This is an ExB story. Sorry for any confusion/Jacob panic!_**

___**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all its characters.**_

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**~Two~**

My thighs stick to the vinyl seats as snatches of excited chatter bounce around the bus, disappearing through the open windows into the blur of green.

It took almost a week to convince my mother that spending time with Charlie was anything but a disaster waiting to happen. Even as we hugged goodbye at the station, Renee's fingers pressed creases into my sundress, unwilling to let go.

Promises of calls, postcards, and maintaining only the lowest expectations of my father, calm her enough to wave me away with a nervous smile.

* * *

The forest is still encroaching onto the highway when the bus rolls to a halt, collecting up another handful of vacationers. The sky curving overhead is turning to a cool blue that hints summer is around the corner.

I adjust my sunglasses, choosing to use them to take stock of my fellow travellers without the risk of having to make conversation.

Small talk is not my forte. Awkward silences and eye contact have turned into a phobia. I'm always prepared to fend off strangers by any means necessary: earphones, books, crosswords.

My tactics usually work, but not today. A tall boy hovers in the corner of my eye, remaining there despite my sudden fascination with the bus schedules posted outside the window. He clears his throat to get my attention.

"Excuse me. Is anyone sitting here?" He gestures to the seat occupied by my battered leather tote. Another tactic.

I take stock of the numerous bodies still stood up in the aisle as the bus rumbles back to life and shake my head. "No. Sorry, I'll move my bag."

"Here. Let me." He deftly stows the bag overhead and takes his place beside me, awkwardly folding his long legs into the cramped seat.

He busies himself, folding and refolding a newspaper covered in figures and stats that would give me a headache. I try to relax back into the seat, but there's a palpable shift in his demeanor, and I know he's going to speak to me. I have no escape, so I plaster on what I hope looks like a pleasant smile.

He offers me one in return. The white teeth and dimpled kind that lowers your defenses. "Where are you headed to?"

"Shelby Bay. I'm spending the weekend at my father's beach house."

"Ah, you're lucky." The breeze flip-flops his hair from its carefully gelled style into his eyes. He tucks it back in immediately.

"What makes you think I'm lucky?"

"No one who draws out the word _father _like you did is looking forward to spending time with him."

"Very observant."

"I've had some experience in the area and a whole tortuous summer with my parents to get through."

"Ouch. I can sympathize with that."

I'd agreed with Emily to come for a few weeks and see how it went. Committing for the whole summer was overambitious for a father and daughter who'd barely spent five minutes in each other's company over the past year. Baby steps.

The ticker taker arrives to check the boy's ticket, and I smile while he fumbles to find it in the seventeen pockets of his cargo shorts. He's all elbows and knees, and with his white-blond hair, he reminds me of a heron. The flashy watch and monogrammed wallet he finally produces from the depths of his bag hint at which end of the shoreline he'll be spending his summer.

_Preppy. Wholesome. Approachable. _

He's flustered by the time the the man moves on, though he does his best to smooth the ruffles. "I'm Riley, by the way."

"Bella." I hold out my hand which makes him laugh. His handshake is firm, proper. "Have you spent a lot of time in Shelby?"

"Almost every summer since I was five, so if you need any tips on the best places to visit while you're in town, I can show you around ... or just tell you. Whichever."

His confidence veers from one end of the scale to the other as if he's trying on a new pair of shoes that don't quite fit. It's endearing, and I find myself agreeing to a guided tour.

The rest of the journey passes quickly with Riley's easy-going chatter. I learn he's fast-tracking his way into the corporate world, courtesy of his father's connections and subtle coercion. He'd rather sail across oceans, discovering uninhibited islands. He likes seafood but hates crab. He once broke his leg falling from a sycamore tree. He can play the violin. Hates politics. Loves reading spy thrillers. Doesn't have a girlfriend. Does have a black labrador called Fred. Talks when he's nervous.

* * *

The air is deteriorating with bodies pressed together in the heat, but the glimpses of a glittering sea as the bus curves around the cape makes us that little more patient. We pull up at the bus station on the edge of town and spill out into the fresh breeze, blinking into the sun.

I hurriedly swap numbers with Riley before he jumps into a waiting car, its black paintwork glistening in the heat. Finding an empty bench to sit on, I wait for my own less extravagant ride.

Whether it's a sixth sense or perhaps survival instinct, I feel someone's eyes on me.

I look up and find a gaze fixed on my face. A boy, waiting for the next bus. He's leaning against the wall of the ticket office, shaded from the sun. His hair is wild. His eyes unwavering as they meet mine. Unsettling and full of something I should probably be wary of.

He doesn't look away. I last only seconds before I turn my attention back to the stream of traffic pouring into the station.

I try to focus on the intercom announcing arrivals and departures, but the words float away like bubbles and pop before I can make sense of them.

I grow bolder, stealing more glances at him. A tired rucksack balanced between sneakered feet. A hand shoved in the pocket of faded, black jeans. A silver chain disappearing under the collar of a white T-shirt. Another hanging from his pocket. A shadow of stubble on the edge of his jaw.

Anywhere but his face. Those eyes.

He watches me until Emily's sedan pulls up to the curb. I overthink every movement as I slide into the car.

_Uneasy. Self-conscious. Thrilled._

When I chance another look, he's already gone.

* * *

**_AN: Thank you for reading xx_**

**_Thanks to Choc, Kim, Conks, Gemma & Shell. Je t'aime._**


	3. Chapter 3

**~Three~**

Shelby is a town full of opposites.

Tame and wild. Shallow and deep. Beautiful and plain.

All depending on how you look at it. All depending on _who_ you're looking at.

The beach house is nestled at the busier end of North Shore, where the houses defy logic, growing larger the farther you look into the distance. Ours is surrounded by a thin strip of sand and seagrasses. It had been advertised as detached, but I can reach out of the little bedroom window and leave fingerprints on next door's glass. Its real selling point is the back deck—hidden behind twists of pink flowers—with its stepping stones to the sand and uninterrupted view of the ocean.

Emily gives me the tour, explaining that my father's been unexpectedly pulled away to work. I'm almost disappointed with his predictability.

My room—off the open-plan kitchen and living room—has a single bed made up in the crispest white fabric, which takes up most of the space. A small bathroom removes any need I'd have to venture upstairs. There's no view, but the open window lends enough breeze to tickle the gauzy curtains and allow the rhythm of the waves in. Emily beams when she see's how happy I am with the setup. A little of the nervous tension rolls off her shoulders. It occurs to me that for some reason, there's a lot riding on my visit. For her, at least.

Apparently, Charlie's busy closing a deal. He wasn't planning to have to work. It was a one-time thing He'll be back before dinner.

I'm not surprised when we eat alone, the sun long disappeared into the inky sea.

She continues to find excuses for him as I make my way to bed. I can't help but feel sorry for her. Not because he's let her down, but because it's only a matter of time before his lies sand away her shine.

I sleep soundly. The ocean intoxicates me and drags my worries away with the tide. Long-forgotten memories wash up in my dreams: building sandcastles, splashing in rock pools and chasing seagulls, all with my hand tightly wrapped in Charlie's. They disintegrate by morning.

The radio and smell of bacon wake me, and I pull on some shorts and a hoodie before finding Emily at the stove in the kitchen.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks over her shoulder. "I made breakfast. How would you like your eggs?"

"I did, and no eggs for me, thanks."

I grab some juice, and I pour her a glass, too, taking them outside to the table. I notice it's only set up for the two of us.

She puts the plate down in front of me with an overly enthusiastic "Enjoy," before turning away, but not before I see the telltale red rims of her eyes.

She's a younger caricature version of my mother. Chestnut hair. Eyes the color of burnt sugar.

_Beautiful. Optimistic. Naive. _

I don't want to get involved in their drama, and I feel a ripple of unease at bearing witness to it before I've even laid eyes on my father.

"What are your plans today? You could head up to the pier or go to the arcades? There's some pretty gift shops, too. One makes jewelry out of seashells. Look at these earrings." She tilts her head, the tiny soft-pink swirls shimmering in the sunlight. "Your dad bought me these."

"They're lovely."

I wonder what misdemeanor the earrings rectified. I played with my mother's jewelry boxes, full of his apologies, for years.

"I was thinking I might go for a walk, check out the beach, maybe sunbathe with a book."

"Oh ... Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything. Sunscreen. Towel." She's crestfallen, but I'm not ready to play happy families on my first day. Even so, I can't ignore the part of me that pities her, so I offer her an olive branch. "Maybe we could go get an ice cream later? Someone told me about an amazing place on the boardwalk."

"I'd love that." She's all smiles again, but as I head to grab my stuff, she touches my arm. "Thanks, Bella. It's not always like this. He's ..."

She can't find the words, and I don't finish the sentence for her with the words swirling inside my head.

_Selfish. Callous. Weak._

* * *

The sun has seeped into my skin, and it still burns long after nightfall. I press my finger into my shoulder, leaving white spots which quickly turn back to angry red.

"Feeling any better?" Emily winces when she takes in my appearance. I doubt her skin has ever been anything other than the caramel complexion that glows, even under the harsh, neon lights of the parlor.

"I'd like to cover myself in this ice cream." I stick my spoon into the remaining pistachio and chocolate mixture melting at the bottom of the glass bowl. "Maybe they'd let me stand in their freezer. Less messy."

I feel like an idiot, but she laughs and reassures me it will be better tomorrow. I hope so, because there's a festival at the pier, and I'd like to go without looking like I've crawled out of a lobster pot.

Spending time with Emily isn't as bad as I'd thought. She's as sugary-sweet as the sundae we've shared, but hopefully she'll drop the act once she realizes I couldn't care less who Charlie dates.

"Ready to go home?" Emily shuffles out of the booth when I nod. "I'll get the check."

I follow her over to the counter, avoiding looking at the kaleidoscope of ice creams that were appealing earlier but now make me feel sick. I lean my arm against the cold glass. The relief is instant, but the blonde behind the counter gives me a funny look, so I straighten and tell Emily I'll meet her outside.

The air up on the boardwalk would be sticky if it weren't for the occasional blasts of air conditioning from open shop fronts. Even the ocean appears subdued with the heat. Only the rippling reflection of the brightly-lit pier and gentle shush of the waves show it's still alive.

Terrible house music pours out from a takeout pizza joint, so I walk to the opposite side of the boardwalk, leaning on the railings above the darkened beach.

My heart flies into my mouth as a shriek echoes out from under the pier. It sounds panicked, but the laughter trailing behind it slows my pulse.

I can make out a group of people in the shadows. A flickering flame reveals a girl's smiling face, and the hands of the boy the lighter belongs to, before they're both plunged back into darkness. The end of her cigarette dances like a firefly as she gesticulates to the group, and they laugh at whatever she's saying.

I feel a pang of envy. And regret.

I have friends back at home—girls I can go to the cinema with, shopping at the mall with—but I've always preferred my own company. Which meant, as high school went on, they stopped calling around as much. For some reason, I didn't notice. Not until graduation, when—with an ink-free yearbook in my hands—I felt like a stranger.

I certainly never hung around in the shadows. But for the first time, I want to.

"Hey. I didn't see you for a second. Ready to go?" Emily looks over the railings. "We could walk back on the beach?"

A mild panic rises at the thought of walking past the group on the sand, but for once, I ignore my self-consciousness and bend to undo my sandals. "Yeah. Okay."

Emily copies me, dangling designer wedges from her fingers as we walk down the wooden steps to the beach, making small talk about my plans for college.

I'm not sure why I feel so nervous as we approach the group. There are no more than six or seven, mostly sitting in a circle on the sand, some wrapped close together as couples. They're not doing anything wrong, but something about these kids both intimidates and entices me.

I don't get the chance to walk by, as they all get up, and amidst snatches of laughter and chatter, head farther away from us.

Two hang back from the group, their heads close together as they walk. There's something familiar about the boy. The set of his shoulders or maybe his hair.

I wonder about him for the rest of the walk back. The boy in the shadows. The boy in the shade.

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**_Thank you for reading xx_**


	4. Chapter 4

**~Four~**

A leather briefcase stands beside the front door. Its presence stops me in my tracks, torn between what I should do and what I want to do.

I tell myself it's stupid to waste the morning waiting for him to come downstairs, that I'll see him later on. I'm out the door and halfway down the path before I can change my mind.

Instead, I wander back toward the pier. The beach is empty, apart from seagulls looking for breakfast and a few swimmers braving the cold water. Without the gaudy lights and crowds, the whole area has an eerie feel. I climb up the sea-worn stairs to the boardwalk, where a few vendors are setting up for the day. Posters flutter in the breeze, advertising the Oyster festival: good food, live music, fireworks. I check the times on one of them and wonder whether Charlie and Emily might want to go, but I nip that thought in the bud before it can become poisoned with disappointment.

Arcades flank the pier, their doors open, but quiet for now. I wander farther out to sea, passing old fairground rides. A teacup ride which brings back dizzy memories sits next to a small area where multicoloured bumper cars are packed together silently. The faint smell of sugar and baking drifts on the morning air, and my stomach rumbles thinking about donuts and clouds of pink cotton candy.

The final attraction before the viewing platform out over the sea is a carousel. The jewel colors and golden manes of the horses make me feel five years old again. I want to ride around and around and watch the world blur.

By the time I return to the house, it's almost lunch. Emily is slicing a huge watermelon, its pink juice spilling into a puddle on the countertop.

"Your dad's home." She's glittering this morning, and it's easy to see why Charlie was drawn to her, why I find myself smiling when I'm around her despite the bad attitude I was cultivating toward her at home. "Out back." She nods to the open doors when she sees me look around for him. "On the deck. He's been asking where you are."

She says this with emphasis, as if it's not the normal reaction of a parent whose child has been missing for the better part of four hours.

I steal a slice of watermelon to take outside with me.

"Hey." I pull out a chair while Charlie puts down his newspaper. He stands and hovers, unsure what to do, starting to go in for a hug but changing his mind to give my shoulder a squeeze and my cheek a kiss instead.

"Bella, how are you? It's really good to see you. You look different. Taller, I think. Or maybe it's your hair."

I smile and pick out a black seed from the melon, flicking it into a nearby bush along with the unkind words I want to use. "I'm good, thanks."

"How are you finding the beach? Emily says you've been exploring."

"It's really nice. The beach house is lovely."

Emily joins us with plates piled high with fresh salad. "The beach life really suits Bella. Look at her freckles already. Who knew they were hiding under that porcelain skin?" She winks, and it lightens the mood for a moment.

"Great. I'm glad you're having a good time." He's already distracted with his phone.

"Thanks."

And so our awkward father-daughter dance begins. We use words that can be interpreted in so many ways. Answers with no substance.

_Fine. Great. Okay._

We tread water while Emily throws out questions to keep us from drowning in silence.

The sad reality of our relationship descends like mist, and despite myself, I decide to at least try to find my way through it before we get lost completely.

"I'm not sure if you have plans tonight, but there's a festival in town. I thought maybe we could all go? There's going to be live music and loads of food. It'll save us from cooking dinner." I look to Emily, avoiding seeing the reaction on my father's face.

"That sounds like fun, doesn't it, Charlie?" Her voice almost has an edge to it, but her smile is sweet.

"It does. What time does it start?"

I'm so surprised, I can't remember any of the details, and Emily has to fill in for me. "It's pretty much all evening, and then later there'll be fireworks and dancing."

"Great." His phone vibrates again, and he excuses himself to make a call.

"Oh, I can't wait." Emily claps her hands together and then begins to clear the table. "I've never been dancing with your dad before. I hope he doesn't have two left feet." She giggles, shaking her head. I don't think she can quite believe it herself.

I spend the afternoon on the beach, writing a letter to my mom. I tell her all about the ocean, the house and the carousel on the pier. I even write about Riley, but I don't mention anything about Charlie agreeing to go to the festival. I don't want to jinx it. I don't want to show the tiny sliver of hope to anyone else, because it's all that harder to hide when it's slashed wide open with disappointment.

* * *

At every passing minute, Emily's anxiety increases. She twists a silver bracelet around her wrist and worries at her lip. "I'm sure he'll be here any second."

I just smile as she tries to reassure me that Charlie is anything but a liar.

"He promised," she says, smoothing down her dress, as if that means anything. We can hear music drifting through the open doors. As each song ends and another begins, I feel my anger rising. Anger at myself for thinking he'd be any different. Anger at the tears Emily wipes away so I don't see. Anger at the empty driveway. Empty chair. Empty promise.

"He's not coming."

She blinks at me, opening her mouth to defend him again, but I hold up a hand to stop her. "He's not."

"No." She's deflated as she stands to clear away the untouched glass of wine. When she returns, her hair is loose and she is barefoot.

"We could still go?" I say, but she's wilting in front of my eyes.

"I think I'll stay here, just in case he gets in touch. He might be stuck in traffic. Maybe his phone died? We can come along and meet you later?"

I dont want to go on my own, but I will not let him ruin my night as well. "Okay, well, hopefully I'll see you later."

As I close the front door, I see her walking upstairs. She'll be curled up on the bed by the time I turn the corner.

* * *

_AN: Thank you for reading._

_Love to my girls xxx_


	5. Chapter 5

**~ Five ~**

Fairy lights crisscross like veins, trailing down from the town into the beating heart of the pier which throbs with music and laughter.

Oysters are everywhere I look: piled high on mountains of crushed ice, some baked with Parmesan, others sizzling in garlic butter. Farther along, stalls of cotton candy, toffee popcorn, and saltwater taffy tempt me. I buy some sugar roasted nuts, unable to resist the smell.

The music stops while another band sets up, and I find a quiet spot to sit with a view of the stage.

Back home, I usually avoid these types of events like the plague, knowing I'll bump into the more outgoing students from my school—not wanting to feel left out but not able to fit in either. But here, where no one knows me, I brush off those feelings like the sand dusting my feet and pull some confidence from the vibrant atmosphere surrounding me.

The band is only halfway into their next set when my view is blocked.

"Hello, stranger."

Riley offers me a Solo cup filled with purple crushed ice. "It's blueberry flavored."

"Thanks." I shuffle up so he can fit beside me on the steps. He's already achieved a summer glow at least five shades over sun-kissed. "How's things? Enjoying family time?"

"Well, I've moved into the pool house, my mother's surviving solely on gin and tonics, and my father's taken a sudden interest in golf, but other than that ..." He laughs and knocks his cup against mine, sloshing ice over the ground.

"What about you? Things going smoothly with daddy dearest?"

"No worse than I expected. He's been at work a lot." I shrug even though I'm still stung from allowing myself to be drawn into his lies.

"Sounds like the perfect excuse to do exactly what you want. I can't get away from my mother. She's taken to lamenting her woes whenever I step foot in the kitchen to grab some food. I might starve if she carries on."

I laugh at the thought of Riley wasting away. "The beach is a good escape. I've tested it a few times."

"I'm not into the beach. Too much like hard work."

"Are you serious?" I ask. Though with his perfectly pressed appearance, it doesn't surprise me.

There are sharp creases on his tan shorts, his linen shirt, and softer ones around his eyes as he laughs. "As serious as a heart attack."

The music swells and makes conversations difficult, but Riley leans in, not letting it deter him. The sweet tang of his breath gives away that his slushie is a lot more potent than mine. "Are you here on your own?"

"Yeah. I had to get out for a bit."

He winces. "That bad?"

"The worst." I take a slug of the melted ice. It makes my teeth hurt, but Riley gets the message I'm not about to talk through my problems with him.

He jerks his chin over to a group of boys who've taken over an area next to the stage. They're all dressed the same as Riley, but in varying shades of blue and cream.

They stand out like a sore thumb.

"We don't usually hang out here, but Michael wanted to visit the … _attractions_."

I decide to ignore his obvious distaste of the pier and instead watch one of the boys—whom I presume is Michael—drape his arm around the waist of a petite blonde girl. She's wearing the kind of tight, black dress I could only pull off in my dreams.

She stands on her tiptoes and whispers in Michael's ear. He laughs, but he's also kind of distracted, too. He catches Riley's eye, sending a wink our way. I pretend I haven't seen him.

Riley fills me in on the dynamics of his group. There's Ben, whose father owns more than a handful of hotels and a gambling addiction—both of which he's well on the way to inheriting. James. Old money. Pre-law and flunking spectacularly. Royce. Son of a banker. Layabout. And then there's Michael.

I've already made my own observations about him.

_Sly. Untrustworthy. Arrogant._

I watch the girl flutter around him like a honeybee attracted to nectar. "Who's that?"

"Rose. He met her last week at some event at the sailing club. She was waitstaff."

I'm puzzled why he feels the need to tell me something like that, and can't shake the feeling he's doing it to try and degrade her in some way.

One of his friends shouts over to us, raising his drink in the air in a congratulatory gesture. Riley ducks his head and shakes it, as if embarrassed. I shift in my seat, suddenly feeling the sticky heat of the crowds and the desire to retreat to a quieter place. I'm starting to feel like one of those little, yellow ducks waiting for some hero to come along and hook them for a prize.

"Ignore him. He's a jackass."

"It's fine. I'd better get back anyway." I don't know why I lie. I feel safe sitting here, talking to Riley, but his friends are making me uncomfortable. I stand and straighten my skirt, hooking my bag over my shoulder.

"Okay. I'll see you soon?" Riley leans down and kisses me briefly on the cheek. It's accompanied by catcalls from across the pier.

"I'll be on the beach."

I challenge him with a grin as I start to walk away, but before I can get too far, he grabs my elbow.

"Hey, Bella, hold up a sec. There's a party at my house this weekend. Wanna come? I can pick you up?"

The loud voices of his friends are approaching, and I find myself agreeing so I can get away before they get to us. "Okay, just give me a call and tell me the details."

"Will do. See you later."

I send him a wave over my shoulder, but he's already been engulfed by his friends.

* * *

Weaving away from the crowds, I slip down between the stalls and around the back where it's quieter. Halfway down the boardwalk, I remember the fireworks.

I can just about make out the time on my watch in the dark. There are fifteen minutes before the fireworks start, so I turn around and walk down to a small jetty that runs out into the ocean. It's empty enough to slip my sandals off and sit, dangling my legs over the edge so the waves brush the bottom of my feet.

Suddenly, I hear raised voices coming from the boardwalk above.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Shut up, Edward. It's none of your business. Just leave it alone." The girl is whispering, but her words are as sharp as if she's throwing stones.

"It is my fucking business. I told you to stay away from him. I'm not saying it for no reason. I know assholes like him. We've been surrounded by them our whole lives. You know this, Rose. You know what they're like."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm tired of you telling me what to do."

"Really? You want to be like that? Fine. But when he treats you like shit, don't come crying to me about it. Just remember, I warned you about him."

She chokes out a humorless laugh, then the click of her high heels fade. Even though I can't see her, I picture the girl in the black dress, face distorted by tears, walking right back into the arms of Michael.

I panic at the sudden approach of footsteps—at the fear of being caught eavesdropping—but I'm stuck with nowhere to go but the ocean.

The small jetty rocks with more force than the waves could muster, and I sense someone behind me. A match sparks out the corner of my eye, smoke trailing through the salty air, followed by an unfamiliar voice.

"It's not safe to be down here alone."

I turn to see the outline of a boy in the darkness.

"Is that a threat?"

He laughs and it's all smoke and rocks. "If it was, would I tell you?"

"Maybe not, depends on how crazy you are."

"You should assume I'm the craziest."

There's nothing threatening about him. Then there's everything. I suppose it depends on what you're protecting.

The fireworks explode into the sky, playing across his face in a kaleidoscope of colors.

I see glimpses of him in blue. I see him in green, red, and yellow. Enough to know who it is. The boy I keep finding without really trying.

I don't know what else to say, so I turn back round to watch the display light the sky.

As the fireworks come to a climax, I feel the jetty dip forward as he crouches next to me. His words brush across my ear. "The argument earlier, you heard what I was saying?"

I nod once, too shocked at his closeness to deny it. I'm straining to hear over the rally of explosions.

"The warning goes for you, too."

I turn to ask him what he means, but he's already walking away, leaping up over the railings and disappearing back into the night.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you for reading. I wasn't able to get back to reviews last week as I was away without any internet (hell!) but I've read them all and I appreciate each one so much. I'll get back on track this week.**_

_**Massive thanks to Layathomemom who rec'd Sea Salt in her fab fic Girl Code. You should go check that out. :)**_

_**See you next week xx**_


	6. Chapter 6

**~Six~**

In the cold light of morning, I'm half-convinced I imagined him. Edward.

I didn't imagine Charlie's absence. It's still a glaring hole at the breakfast table and a crack in Emily's carefully applied smile. We pass the day on the beach, my head buried in a book, Emily's buried in the sand until he returns, overflowing with apologies and flowers.

He avoids talking to me and takes her out sailing, later, whisking her off for dinner at some upscale restaurant.

I escape to the beach where I people watch. Looking for one person in particular. But he is nowhere.

* * *

Riley has been pestering me all day about his party, but despite enjoying spending time with him, his crowd isn't the type I wanted to find myself in. So I bail at the last minute.

The evening sky is spoiling for a storm. It's not the only darkening view I have, curled up on the sofa for a quiet night in.

When Charlie is in a bad mood, stress rolls off him in waves that lap at the feet of anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. If you don't step away, you'll be pulled under with him. He's pacing the kitchen like a caged animal, phone glued to his ear, shouting about deadlines and contracts.

His best behavior has been flickering on and off like a faulty light bulb. It's only a matter of time before it goes out.

Emily stands in his path, gesturing at the time, but he swerves around her. I expect her to give up, but she sets her shoulders and blocks him again. I want to dive into the book I'm reading and disappear.

"Charlie, we're going to be late." She crosses her arms, silver bangles rattling like a snake.

He holds his hand over the phone, responding to her like you would a child. "This is important, darling."

"No, it's not."

I close the book and slowly uncurl my legs from under me. The tone in her voice is a warning I'll heed even if he won't.

"Not now, Emily. I've been waiting for this call all afternoon."

I slink away unnoticed, but the quiet sanctuary of my bedroom is shattered by the glass I hear hitting the kitchen wall.

The reasons I had to avoid tonight's party are drowned out by angry voices and the need to get out of the house.

This is how I find myself walking down the long road to Riley's end of town.

* * *

I'm only halfway there when the bruised clouds split open. The rain is light enough that I can barely feel it, but my blue dress gradually darkens, sticking to my legs.

I twist my hair up in an attempt to save it from frizzing and hasten my steps toward the shelter of the trees that line the road.

Omens come in all shapes and sizes. Today, mine is a dusty red truck that speeds by, straight through a puddle. "Jesus, you asshole!" I yell at the tail lights as they disappear from sight.

Sandy mud is splattered up my legs, dirtying the hem of my already soaked dress. I take it as a sign that I'm not meant to go to the party.

I haven't buried my initial reluctance too deep, so I don't think twice before turning around, deciding I can hide out in my room with my music cranked up.

* * *

Headlights grow and pass by. I dodge and jump puddles. One soaking is enough.

Then the quiet rain finds its voice.

I'm debating whether to make a run for it when a car pulls up beside me. The foggy window rolls down, revealing a tumble of blonde curls and a face I recognize from the pier. "You need a ride?"

"You don't mind? I'm kinda drenched."

"Sure. It's fine. Jump in." She leans over and unlocks the door so I can open it. "Sorry. She's a hunk of junk. My brother promised me he'd fix it, but …"

She rolls her eyes as if I'm somehow aware of her sibling's failings.

"I don't even have a car, so this is pretty luxurious to me." I climb in and try to confine my dripping to the faded leather seat.

The windshield steams up again, flashing amber with the blinkers while the girl leans over into the back seat and then hands me a beach towel. "I'm Rose, by the way. Where're you headed?"

"Hey, I'm Bella. Thanks for the lift." I don't let on I already know her name, not wanting to explain how Riley so kindly explained who Michael's "fun" was. "I was walking to Acacia Drive, but the storm changed my plans so I was going back home. I'm staying in one of the beach houses along the shore."

"Acacia Drive?" She tilts her head, appraising me. "You know Riley Biers?"

I notice now that she's dressed to impress: dress like a second skin and a hell of a lot of leg.

"Yeah, sort of. I only just met him, though. It was kinda a last minute decision to go to his party, and anyway …" I gesture at my appearance. "I don't think drowned rat is a look they'd go for up there."

She snorts, and pulls down the visor. It's stuffed with bobby pins, photos, and bits of paper. Rose slips off a few pins. "Use these to put your hair up. I'll put the air on, and you'll be dry in no time. Can't let a little rain put you off."

Her idea of _a little rain_ has replaced the road with a river.

I make myself look as presentable as I can in the small mirror. "I guess you're going?"

"I wasn't ... but I've had a change of heart."

She doesn't expand, but the way she adds a swipe of red lipstick like warpaint tells its own story.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you for reading. **_

_**Smooches to Choc, Kim and Conks for making this pretty. xx**_


	7. Chapter 7

**~Seven~**

"You just couldn't stay away, huh?" Riley grins, pulling me into a hug.

I'm speechless at the scene behind him.

His home is white on white on white. The kind that features in glossy magazines. The kind you can't quite believe anyone actually lives in. The ceilings are impossibly high and the windows are so big they're not really windows at all; the sky and ocean are his walls.

I imagine on a sunny day it's spectacular, but as the storm hurls itself at the house, I find myself shivering in the stark expanse. "Well, I had nothing else to do." I shrug, unable to contain a smile.

He's mock offended. "Oh, so I'm your last resort?"

"Something like that," I say. It feels a little like flirting, so I step past him into the house.

He turns to Rose, the initial surprise at seeing her smoothed away with a smile—an expert host. "Hey, Rose. Come in."

She straightens her shoulders, and her features settle into an expression that doesn't bear any resemblance to the girl I just met.

A chameleon.

_Cool. Aloof. Unapproachable. _

"Is Michael here?"

"Yeah. He's out back in the den."

"Thanks."

Riley visibly relaxes once Rose brushes past him, barely casting a glance at either of us. I chalk her behavior down to a symptom of whatever fever has brought her here. "Can I get you a drink? Beer, wine, vodka?"

"A beer would be great, thanks."

He leads me to a big kitchen and grabs us a bottle each. I clutch on to it like a shield as he steers me through his house. People are everywhere. Screams and laughter mix with music spilling out from hidden speakers. We find the boys from the pier, hanging out in the first room I've come across that has an ounce of warmth. Rich scents of leather and smoke fill the air around them as they sit at a large table, playing cards

"Guys, this is Bella." Riley waves his drink at each of the group as he introduces them. Michael is nowhere to be seen and neither is Rose.

They're all friendly enough, and James stands up and offers me his seat, pulling another over.

There's no space for Riley, but it doesn't phase him, and he makes room by shoving Royce out of his seat. Glances are passed around the table. He's staked his claim.

That's the problem with boys: always one eye on the prize, the other on the competition.

"You play cards?" Riley is leaning forward, as if he's interested in the game. It brings him closer, only this time I don't move away. There's too much attention on us both, and I want it to shine elsewhere. I let him shelter my shyness.

"Not really," I say, a little white lie. My admission gives Riley the go-ahead to spend the next few minutes explaining the basics of poker to me. The rest of the guys get bored and return to their game. I nod along while watching the boys and their tells.

Royce is so drunk, he's a giveaway—anyone with eyes can see his cards as he waves them around. James is practically falling off his seat to lay his final chips, a decent hand, but Ben, the gambler, he's good.

"What've you got there, James? A pair? Three of a kind? Come on, tell me. A straight? Full house?"

A smile twitches in Ben's cheek the moment James' eyes give him away. "Wanna raise the stakes?" he asks.

James stacks and restacks his few remaining chips as if he's expecting there to be enough to rise to Ben's challenge. There isn't.

"What about your baby parked in the driveway? Willing to risk that?"

"Fuck off. Nobody touches my car."

"I smell a lack of confidence." Ben laughs and James' shoulders begin to slump under the weight of peer pressure.

It signals him out as the runt of the litter, the one they kick for fun. I will him not to give in. He won't win.

James reaches for his last resort, unwilling to let his pride take a beating. "I've got an 8-ball and ... my Rolex."

There's a chorus of whistles around the table.

"Batter up, Jimmy boy." Ben bangs out a drumroll on the table.

I catch Ben's tell again, and he sees I've caught him. This time I don't look away.

He cocks his head like a dog, his eyes never leaving mine. "Lay your bet, James. Let's get this show on the road. We need to show Bella here how we really party."

"I've got that covered," Riley warns. His voice is like the glint of a knife, and I wonder how the hell this group could ever call themselves friends.

I change the subject, asking Riley about his plans for the rest of the summer, and declining his offer of another drink, wanting to keep my wits close.

The outcome of the game is certain enough, and Ben wins. As he leaves the table to enjoy his spoils, he waves the baggie of coke at us. I shake my head, and Riley does, too. Whether his response is for my benefit or not, I'm unsure.

Ben's only been gone for a minute when he returns with a look on his face that spells trouble. "Bathroom's occupied."

We're all puzzled, but no one gets the chance to ask questions. Harsh voices pour down the stairs, crashing over the party like a bucket of cold water.

"Oh shit." Riley sighs and gets up, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I'll be right back."

The girl's voice is hoarse with rage, swamped with tears. The boy's is a low, steady rumble, inaudible from our ringside seats. Someone turns up the music, blotting out their anger. The slamming of the door is the final word.

The festivities resume, and I'm not surprised when Riley returns with Michael in tow. Rose is nowhere to be seen.

"Trouble in paradise?" James has an unkind look on his face. He's enjoying someone else's misfortune.

"Nope. Just an itch I had to scratch." Michael slides into a chair and lights a cigarette, drawing on it long and slow.

"Please tell me you did more than scratch it?" Royce is having trouble stringing his sentences together and it comes out slurred.

Michael's smirk and the resulting laughter makes me want to punch him. Riley remains quiet. I can't decide if he's embarrassed at his friend's behavior or is unwilling to reveal his true colors to me. But I've always believed your friends are a true reflection of who you are. And his is not a pretty picture.

One of the girls who has been circling the table all evening descends and perches on the arm of Michael's chair, plucking the cigarette out of his hands.

She's polished to a high shine. Crisp as a dollar bill. As beautiful as deadly nightshade.

Michael doesn't retrieve his stolen goods. He inclines his head to her. The muscles in his forearm flex, and though I can't see, I imagine he's dragging his fingers along her bare skin.

The rest of the table gets back to the business of dealing and drinking. I shift in my seat, feeling like I took a wrong turn and ended up in the lion's den.

"Are you okay?" Riley dips his head so no one else can hear.

"I'm fine, but where's Rose?"

"I didn't realize you knew Rose before tonight?"

"I didn't, but I'm still worried about her. She seemed … pissed when she arrived, and the argument …" I shrug, getting tired of spelling common decency out to him.

"I'm sure she's okay. She seems like she can handle it. Michael's harmless, really. Just can't keep his hands to himself." He smiles. I frown.

"I'd say that's the opposite of someone being harmless, Riley."

He starts to backtrack as soon as his name, sharp with my disappointment, slices through the room. Everyone around the table is looking at me now, but my instincts to stand up for Rose push aside any awkwardness I feel. "I'm going to see if she's okay."

The blonde who has slid onto Michael's lap unleashes her poisoned barb straight at me. "I didn't know the skank had friends."

The laughter is subdued, stuttered while they look over to Riley for reassurance. The disgusted sneer he's wearing cuts the sniggering off.

Words tumble over themselves in my head in an attempt to stand up for myself, but I take too long, and Riley steps in.

"Don't be so fucking dumb, Ina."

The smirk on her face flutters and dies. Maybe Riley's not buried as deep in arrogance as the rest of his friends. Maybe there's still some decency that keeps his head above ground.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I shake my head. "I'll find my way around."

"Try the third door on the right at the top of the stairs." He stands as I do, hinting that someone has instilled gentlemanly behavior into him.

They say actions speak louder than words, but it's easy to stay in character until you forget your lines.

* * *

**AN: Thank you for reading. Have a fab weekend. xx**

**Hugs to Choc, Kim and Conks for reigning in my inner Wordy Mary and all their hard work xxx**


	8. Chapter 8

**~Nine~**

I try five doors until I find the right one.

And when I do find it, I wish I hadn't.

I wish I'd looked for her the second I heard them arguing.

I wish I'd asked her why she was coming tonight, why she was angry.

I wish I'd talked her out of it.

I wish I knew what to do.

Rose is curled up in a ball, tucked down the side of a claw-foot tub.

_Vacant. Dishevelled. Broken._

"Rose, it's me, Bella. Are you okay?" I crouch in front of her. I hold her hand.

She answers with black tears rolling from hollow eyes.

"What happened? Have you taken something?"

She doesn't answer, so I grab the champagne glass balancing on the edge of tub and fill it with water. White powder dusts the marble countertop, discarded as if it's nothing but flour. The medicine cabinet has been ransacked. The excess makes me want to puke. I hand her the glass and she accepts it, sipping it slowly, struggling to pull herself together.

I can't decide if the coke or Michael is to blame. She's displaying all the signs of a comedown, but drugs aren't the only things that can be addictive.

"Is Edward here?" Her voice is tiny and strangled, but I hear his name clear enough.

"I haven't seen him. Was he here tonight?" I'm ashamed of the selfish flash of excitement this thought causes.

She shakes her head, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as if her reality is too bright. "I called him."

"Then I'm sure he's on his way."

Someone trips through the door, all high heels and giggles that sound almost offensive as they bounce around the sad scene in the bathroom.

"Oops, sorry. I didn't realize this was occupied. Do you mind if I—"

"Yes, I do. Find another room."

She's startled, and too happily drunk to argue. I wait for her to fall back through the door before I lock it behind her.

Rose whimpers again and curls even tighter around herself. I reach for her purse pushed under the cast iron tub and find her phone. It's already illuminating the bag; Edward's name flashes up on the screen for a second before it goes dark. I try to call him back, my fingers fumbling over the keys while I think about what to say to him. It's almost a relief when a passcode stops me.

"Rose, can you hear me?" I squeeze her hand and lift up her chin. "Rose."

There's no response, but the soft warmth of her breath touches my fingers. "What's the code for your phone?"

She simply asks for Edward.

"He'll be here soon." I sit down beside her and hold her hand, hoping it'll reassure her that there's at least one person at this party who gives a shit about anyone else but themselves. I use the other to text Riley.

There's a faint knock on the door a few minutes later. I let him in and gesture to a crumpled Rose. "What the hell happened up here?"

He pulls at the collar of his shirt, eyes darting between the coke and the other girl in his bathroom. "Is she okay? What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. I found her like this." I try to get her to drink more water, but she pushes it away. "I think she needs help. We should call somebody or take her to the hospital."

Panic jumps through his features. This does not look good for him. The collateral damage would be too much. "Let me go and find Michael."

"No. She won't want him here, Riley. Can't you see that?"

Rose begins to sob again, and though it's heart-wrenching to hear, it reassures me she's alive.

"She called Edward. I don't know if you know him, but—"

"Fuck." Riley starts for the door, but raised voices grow, halting him. "Too late."

My heart skids around my chest as the door flies open.

Edward is twisted with rage. His chest heaves with it. It clenches his fingers, hot-white anger in his knuckles. His voice simmers. "Where is she?"

The question, directed at both of us, is like a bullet. I can't move from its path, so I try to deflect it. "She's here. I can't get her to talk much, so I don't really know what's happened."

He is disgusted. With me. I try to defend myself, but he isn't listening. Riley standing beside me is telling a story I had no part in writing, and when he, too, starts to speak up, Edward is finished with us.

He stalks over to where Rose is stirring. I take a step back for fear of getting burned.

For the first time, she opens her eyes as he lifts her up. She clings onto him, repeating the same words over and over. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't give us a second glance as he carries her out of the bathroom, but I can't bear for him to walk away thinking the worst of me. "Edward," I say and he pauses. His glare scorches holes in my confidence and I stutter-jumble my words. "… I … I think. I don't know, she might have taken something. I thought you should know in case you need to take her to the hospital."

Three steps toward me, and I see every single detail of his furious face.

I am caught in his backdraft.

"Rose doesn't fucking do drugs. She wouldn't ever touch them. Ever."

He doesn't give me a chance to respond, and as if I wasn't regretting the moment I ever set foot in this party enough, his parting shot does it.

"Are you fucking stupid? Is that why you're here with these assholes?" He smiles, but it cuts deeper than his anger. "I thought you might be different. You're all just the fucking same."

He leaves the bathroom, taking all the air with him.

I suffocate in his hostility.

* * *

_**AN: Have a fantastic weekend, and thank you for reading. xx**_

_**As always, I couldn't do this without Choc, Kim and Conks. **_


	9. Chapter 9

**~Nine~**

The lack of signal and abundance of eavesdroppers at the beach house sends me to a dusty payphone on the beach road where I call my mom.

I try to explain everything that's bothering me without mentioning anything that will send her into a panic. Turns out there's not much I can say.

She tries to help me order my thoughts but it's like trying to untangle the knots in a necklace with one hand.

In the end, her advice is simple.

Stay away from them all.

No fuss. No stress. No Edward.

After the warning beeps and our rushed goodbyes, I feel homesick and frustrated because I know my determination to stay away will run out as quickly as my credit.

* * *

The last time I saw Riley, we stood in silence outside his house.

Now, he stands outside mine.

The only difference is the sunshine that makes it easier to see past my anger.

"Hey."

"Hi. I hope you don't mind me turning up like this?"

I shake my head and sit down on the stoop. Riley hovers until I pat the step next to me. He leaves a gap between us filled with the events of last night.

"I wanted to explain."

He pauses, perhaps hoping I'll tell him he doesn't have to. I brush sand from the step while I wait.

"I panicked last night. When I saw Rose like that, I freaked out."

"Because she was really ill?"

He drops his head. "I could lie but I think you'd see through it."

"I don't want you to lie."

Riley nods, scratching the back of his neck. "I was just thinking of the shitstorm that would hit when my parents found out. They give me a lot of space … and I'm used to that. It works better for us all, but if the police were called, I'd never be let out of their sight again. My life as I know it would be over, not to mention my future. My dad believes in rewarding people, but on the flip side, he doles out punishment brutally. He'd pull all his support for college, my secondment at the bank. It's all his connections. So … I know that makes me an asshole."

"What about Rose? She really needed help. What if she hadn't called her brother? Would you have just thrown her out?"

"Jesus, Bella. Of course not. I panicked at first, but I would have helped her if her brother hadn't turned up. I'm not the bad guy here."

Edward's face twisted in anger flares in my mind. The memory makes me flinch. "I'm not sure there are any good guys either."

"I am. At least I'm trying to be." His eyes are honest blue in the daylight.

I rake my fingers through my hair, still salt-tangled from my morning swim. "Whatever happened, Rose was left alone. What if I hadn't gone up, or if I hadn't gone to the party?"

"She would have been fine. I would've made sure of it. I called her earlier."

"You did?"

"Yeah, her car is still at mine, and I wanted to make sure she was okay."

I try not to fault him for panicking, giving him credit for coming to see me and calling Rose.

I think I would have acted differently if I were Riley, but I've never been in a situation like that before. And I never want to be in one again.

I watch him walk down the path, dust kicking up around his sneakers as he takes the benefit of my doubt with him.

* * *

I look for Rose wherever I go.

Though Riley told me she's fine, I'm not so sure I want to accept that without setting eyes on her myself.

I'm torn between the desire to find her and the fear she might be with Edward.

I prepare and replay what I'm going to say when I see him again. Plans for snarky and cutting comments—or to feign indifference—mix and solidify in my mind. They thaw as quickly as my courage, like a sundae eaten under the sun.

It doesn't stop me imagining every eventuality.

It doesn't stop me thinking about him.

Even if he is too much.

* * *

I see her blonde hair first. It stands out, illuminated, in the sea of people on the boardwalk.

"Rose." It comes out quieter than I mean it, still unsure what exactly I'm going to say to her. I shout her name again.

This time she turns.

And when she locates the source of her name, she pretends she didn't hear it at all.

I let out a yell of frustration, and oblivious to the angry looks of the crowd, I elbow my way through, determined to catch up to her and demand some answers.

I catch a glimpse of her walking toward the pier and vanishing into an arcade. Following her, I push open the heavy doors, ignoring the _Closed_ sign swaying in the window. I'm plunged into a darkness broken by the intermittent flashing of a lone fluorescent light, making finding Rose a game of hide-and-seek. The warmth from the machines and metallic smell of handled coins lingers in the air.

The games are silent. Their lights out. I've lost Rose, but rock music is trailing from a radio somewhere. I follow the familiar lyrics. They lead me to a ticket booth, glowing with blacklight. Rose is sitting inside, her hair bright under the UV.

She's counting out coupons or tickets. I rap on the window. "Rose?"

I would laugh at the way she almost slips off her stool in shock, but I'm not finding anything about the situation funny.

"Bella? I …"

"What the hell was that about?"

She frowns, but the gesture is too forced. "What do you mean?"

"You saw me and ran off."

My voice is louder than it needs to be to be heard over the radio, but I can't find it in myself to care.

"Honestly, I don't know what—"

"Why are you lying to me?"

She puts the tickets down and looks me in the eye for the first time. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to. After what happened … I want to explain, but I'm not sure I know what to say." She pauses, but I don't fill the empty space. "Look, can we talk out back? I just need to finish up for tonight. Please?"

I'll give her the chance to explain, even though I wasn't granted the same. "Okay."

She flips the switch on the radio and comes out of the booth. Fidgeting with a set of keys, she locks up. _Cullen Arcades _glows electric-pink and radioactive-green across the back of her shirt as I follow her into an office.

She flips the lights, revealing a desk peeking out from under an avalanche of paperwork. A ratty orange couch runs along one wall.

"I'll be right back." She gestures for me to sit. I do but choose to perch on the edge of the cushion.

While I wait, I read the posters and schedules pinned on a corkboard. The same names are repeated over and over. Two standing out above the others. Rose. Edward.

I search for today's date and see his name scrawled dead center across the middle. The slant and sharp handwriting dominates the space. I know it's his.

Though I've been wanting to see him, to say my piece, the thought of him being in this small room with me steals the moisture from my mouth. I busy myself, trying to get a cup of water from the half-empty water cooler tucked in the corner of the room. Anything to not sit and wait.

Rose bursts through the door a minute later, snapping my pent-up tension like an elastic band.

She climbs on the edge of the sofa and hugs her knees to her chest while I join her.

"Thanks for waiting. I don't know what's wrong with me right now. I didn't mean to upset you earlier. I was just ... not ready to see you ... or anyone." She finds a loose thread and picks at it, twisting the freed strand around her finger until the tip is red.

"I guess what I mean is I was embarrassed. I can't remember what happened. Edward kinda explained but even he—

"Whatever he told you about me is wrong."

She looks up, wide-eyed. "He didn't tell me anything about you. Just said you were there with those assholes."

"He thinks I'm one of those assholes."

"No, no he doesn't." She grabs on to my arm. Her pink-tipped nails are chipped. It strikes me as odd that she'd allow them to be like that. "I promise. I told him what happened, that I gave you a ride to the party and that you didn't really know anyone there."

"He doesn't seem like the kinda person to change his mind once he's made it."

Rose's smile is soft, and everything about it is love. "No. My brother's a stubborn son of a bitch, but he'll see he was wrong when he meets you."

The small sliver of knowledge swoops in and steals some of my anger. I hope Rose doesn't catch the relief that flits across my face before I can rein it in.

"I've got to get back anyway and—"

"Honestly, Bella. I'll talk to him."

"You know, I'm not sure I want you to. He said some pretty shitty stuff. I'd rather just forget about it. I just wanted to make sure you're okay." She goes back to picking at the couch. "Rose, what happened?"

She shrugs and opens her mouth at least three or four times before any sound comes out. "Michael happened."

"What did he do? I've been really worried about you. You were totally out of it."

She waves my question away. "I was just being dramatic. Think I had one too many vodkas. He knows how to push my buttons, that's all."

Every sentence she says seems to be unfinished. The extra words she keeps back leave a gaping hole. I want to be more direct, but I don't know her enough to pull the lies out from where she's hiding them.

"Have you spoken to him since?"

"Oh yeah. He came running with his tail between his legs." She rolls her eyes, but they light up at the same time.

It's not the story I'd expected to hear. It pales in comparison to the things I'd imagined might have happened. Things I'm sure _did _happen.

"So, what? Are you two dating now?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "He wishes."

A phone ringing interrupts my next question. Rose pulls her cell from her back pocket, frowning at the screen as she silences it. "Anyway, I'd better get back to work before I get in even more trouble. I'll show you out."

She stands and heads to the door but before she reaches it, she turns around. "I'm sorry about that night. I'm not usually like that. You just caught me on an off night."

"It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're okay."

"It does matter. I appreciate you looking out for me. Not many people do."

"Well, they should."

Her lips curve a little, but they're weighed down with her response. "Maybe."

I'm not sure what else I can say to her. That she deserves someone to make her feel special, someone to tell her how much she's worth, but I don't think it will mean anything coming from me. And she will never hear it from the one person she's looking to hear it from.

She changes the subject and starts telling me about a bonfire on the beach. "You'll come?"

I want to ask her who will be going before I answer, but I don't want to be rude. "Sure. It sounds good."

Someone flicks a switch and the arcade bursts into life. The machines hum and flicker in to a vibrant show; tacky music and jackpot bells clash together. It's almost unbearable after the quiet darkness. I'm dazzled by the lights, and it takes a second to recognize the figure approaching us.

Edward. Dressed in a black T-shirt like Rose. He's carrying a cardboard box, which he drops at our feet.

"Where the hell have you been, Rose? I've been calling you."

The tension between the two of them crackles. "I've been here. Where I always am."

"You need to go home."

He slides his eyes to me—I think it's the first time he notices me. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it, but whatever he was going to say next is rearranged.

"Dad needs you."

"But what about the arcade?"

"I can handle it."

I expect more of a fight from Rose, but her stone wall dissolves, and she doesn't say another word to him. Grabbing her purse, she rushes away, calling out goodbye and a promise to call over her shoulder.

Edward stares at me. "We're closed."

He picks up the box and walks away. Embarrassment at being victim to his mood again bubbles under my skin, boiling over into anger.

It pushes into my chest, pulses through my limbs until it's too hot to ignore, and I find myself at the door to the back office. I shove it open before I can think it through. Edward is crouched on the floor with a knife in his hand, slicing through the parcel tape of the box. His face is frozen in shock, but he's quick to school his expression into a sneer.

He starts to speak, but I cut him off.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

I'm surprised at myself, but I don't back down, even though I feel like I've left my body back in the dazzling arcade. "You don't know anything about me, yet you act like you can't stand the sight of me." I clench my fists when his reaction is to laugh. "Don't laugh at me. You know what? Don't even speak to me."

He's standing in the eye of my storm while I rage around him—untouched.

"What if I want to speak to you? What will you do then? Get your boyfriend to beat me up?"

I want to grab on to his shoulders and shake him. "You see? That's exactly my point."

I don't listen to his response, but I see the slow smile creep across his face before I turn away.

I'm still furious as I find my way out into the night, but when I get home and crawl into bed, my last thought before I fall into a fitful sleep is how different his face is when he smiles.

_Striking. Handsome. Heartbreaking._

He should do it more often.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you so much for all the reviews and for the rec's I've seen this week on twitter & FB. You're all fab. **_

_**Love to Choc, Kim & Cat for making this all pretty and putting up with my never ending questions xx**_


	10. Chapter 10

**~Ten~**

_Almosts_.

My summer is filled with them.

My father _almost _spends time with me.

Emily _almost_ leaves him.

I _almost_ work up the courage to seek out Rose again.

But then I _almost_ bump into her brother.

_Almost _is not enough. Then it's too much.

* * *

The bonfire burns bright in the distance, sending sparks to join the stars. I hover on the boardwalk, indecision sticking my feet to the ground like gum.

I become unstuck when I see a group of boys pour out from the arcade and head down onto the sand. Instead of following them, I sidestep into a touristy gift shop, straight into the path of Rose.

"Bella! I was about to call you!" She's wrestling with a large bag filled with towels. "Can you give me a hand with this?"

We're balancing the bag between us before I can think of a reason I have to be elsewhere. It clinks with each step, giving away its contraband.

She fills the distance to the fire with chatter about her day. I scan the faces we pass, jumping from one to the other. I tell myself I'm looking for a familiar face. But it's Edward I search for.

A cheer goes up when Rose empties the bag into a ready-made ice bucket.

She pulls a flask out of her purse and hands it over with a grin. "Something special for us."

I take a swig and fight the urge to spit it out over the sand. The sharp taste of alcohol makes my mouth water and my nose burn. "Jesus. What the hell is that?"

"Vodka. It's supposed to be honey flavored, but it's pretty old. I found it in the back of our garage." She shrugs and takes a long drink. Its effect barely registers on her face.

Music is playing, but it's not loud enough to drown out the chatter or the whisper of the waves. Rose grabs my arm and leads me over to some girls sitting on the cooling sand. "Guys, this is Bella." She sits crossed-legged beside them and pats the sand, gesturing to the others. "Angie, Kate, and Taylor."

They all smile and wave, passing around Rose's flask. I'm glad when there are rounds of spluttering and coughing. I'm not the only one it had that effect on

"If you drink any more of that, you might end up in the ER. I think it expired in the 70s." Angie screws her nose up.

"You're all lightweights." Rose snatches it back and pokes her tongue out at her friend.

Rose explains how we met. She leaves a lot out. Her laughter and smiles paint over the little white lies. When the attention of her friends is elsewhere, she drops her act, and I see the anxiety in her eyes as she mouths a thank you.

_Nervous. Evasive. Troubled._

* * *

I know he's behind me before he speaks.

I daren't turn round in case he's not there and in case he is.

"Anyone got a light?" Edward walks around to face our group, beer bottle held loosely in his fingers, a joint in the other hand.

Rose barely breaks from her conversation to shake her head at him. He looks at each of the girls, who all shrug their shoulders. Kate looks frantically through her purse, and much to her distress, comes up empty-handed.

I avoid looking at his face, glancing at the violent orange flames behind him and then back to Rose as if I'm engrossed in her story. He doesn't move, and his shadow presses down harder on me with every second of silence until I answer. "No. I don't smoke."

Rose turns to him again with a smirk. "Can't you use the huge match behind you?"

The girls laugh, but Edward doesn't. I begin to wonder if he has a sense of humor.

"Don't be such a bitch. And don't bother asking for any of this when I do find one."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I don't want any, and I know you've got a lighter in your car, so why don't you just use that?"

"Fuck you, Rose." He stalks off, leaving the heat from the fire behind. Somehow the bonfire feels cooler against my skin than Edward's presence.

"I have no idea what's up with him," she says, her head tilted up to the sky as if it knows the answer.

* * *

I'm not sure what time it is, but the moon is hovering high over the sea, and my veins are filled with the warmth of the fire and company.

Rose's are filled with liquor. It's glazing her eyes and melting her bones. She's taken to leaning on me when she's not distracted by her phone. The screen lights up and steals her away every few minutes. Her lazy smiles as she reads the messages give away who they're from.

I haven't seen anyone from Riley's party on the beach, and I'm not surprised. It's too laid back: down to earth and dusty. I'm entirely at home here, amongst these strangers.

I'm also not surprised when Rose starts to peer into the darkness that shadows the rest of the beach.

Another text, and she links her fingers with mine and pulls me to my feet. "Come on," she whispers, and suddenly I'm her co-conspirator.

"Where are we going?" I ask, though I already know the answer. I swallow back my concerns.

"You'll see." She giggles and falls into me for a moment before setting herself straight.

The sand is silver-cold as we walk away from the circle of heat. We draw closer to voices, and two people materialize from the inky darkness. Riley and Michael.

Rose wastes no time in jumping into Michael's arms. I find it difficult to raise a smile at him, instead directing one at Riley.

"Hey, what are you guys doing here?" I ask.

Riley shrugs. "No idea. I think Michael has a death wish."

"Whatever, man." Michael overhears and walks over, his arms wrapped tightly around Rose.

Riley lowers his voice and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans as we walk back toward the bonfire. "Either that, or he's stupidly in love, but that's unlikely, so I'll go with just stupid. How've you been? I haven't seen you around?"

"I'm good. Just been busy doing this and that."

He accepts my innocuous response and doesn't probe further. I'm not sure how he'd take it if I explained I've been avoiding his friends, which, unfortunately, means him too.

"I went looking for you at the beach the other day."

"You did, huh? That was brave. All recovered?"

He looks forlorn, placing his hand on his chest. "I'm getting there. I'm going for shock treatment. You know, overexposure? It's why I agreed to come along tonight." He sighs then smiles. "And to see your beautiful face, of course."

I laugh in absence of a witty response and duck my head to hide the flicker of pleasure his compliment causes. We slide back into easy conversation, and I find myself glad for a familiar face, even if it means having to be in close proximity to Michael.

We don't go back to sit with the girls but find a quieter spot at the outer reaches of the fire. Though Rose is confident and flirtatious, I catch her eyes flitting back and forth to Edward and his friends, who are sitting in the darkness by the shore. It puts me on edge more than it should, and I feel the pull of tension across my shoulders.

Riley spots my discomfort and confuses it. "Are you cold? Do you want my sweater?"

He starts to take it off as I hold out my hands to stop him "No, no. I'm just a little uncomfortable."

He ignores me and hands it over. "It's fine. I don't mind."

I hold the warm fabric, unsure what to do, but I don't want to appear ungrateful, so I wrap it around my shoulders.

All the time I sense _him_ watching.

Predatory in his gaze and territorial to those close to him, he reminds me of a wild animal. Like standing at the fence of a lion enclosure and fighting the dangerous urge to curl my fingers through the wire. The thrill of being so close to something so unpredictable. For that reason, I can't ignore his pull. I find myself looking over to the shoreline.

And for a moment, I meet Edward's eyes and let him catch me.

* * *

The arrival of the boys has set the night simmering. Even the laughter and music seems fractious since we brought them back here. I can't help but wish we hadn't.

Rose is all over Michael, and it's awkward to watch. Everything in her demeanor is fake. The throaty laugh, her coy mannerisms. Despite being halfway drunk, even the words she's choosing don't fit with the girl I've just spent the last few hours with. I feel a flush of embarrassment for her. Riley tries and fails to involve them in our conversation.

Eventually, they both peel themselves off the ground and disappear into the night.

Riley is cast orange by the fire. Its flickering shadows draw out his pained expression. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Michael."

"You don't have to apologise for him. I … he's all right." It's as good a compliment as I can manage.

He laughs at me. "Don't worry, I know you think he's an asshole. And he is. The biggest one I know."

"So why are you friends with him?"

"I've known him for years. Our fathers worked together, and it went from there. Sorta had to make an effort to be friends, but he's all right when he's not being a dick. I've spent a lot of summers here, and I'd go crazy without people to hang out with." He shrugs, scooping up the coarse sand, watching it trickle through his fingers.

I consider asking him how he could call someone as selfish and arrogant as Michael a friend, but instead say, "So you're kinda stuck with him."

"I guess. He has his uses."

I start to ask him about the night of his party again, but he's distracted. His eyes dart back and forth over my shoulder. I purposely turn and look, confused by his change in demeanor.

He returns his attention to me for a moment. "I need to go talk to a friend for a second. Do you want a drink? I'll get you one on the way back."

He stands, brushing sand off his jeans and walking away before he's even registered my answer.

Alone, I start to feel awkward. Riley's sweater around my shoulders itches and feels heavier than it should. I look over to where he's deep in conversation with two boys. Their heads are bowed, but their stances don't scream friends. If anything, they're holding themselves stiffly. The tall, lighter-haired boy has his arms wrapped across his body, hands under his armpits, as if they're cold, which is impossible so close to the fire. The other, dark with a shaved head, holds his hands up in surrender, or maybe ignorance. I watch their exchange. The impression I have of Riley shifts again, morphing into something new.

I hear Rose scream with laughter. It's teetering on panic, and everyone's attention is once again drawn to Michael. He's trying to catch her. Chasing until he grabs her and swings her round, much to her delight. When he puts her down, she stumbles and falls without raising her hands to protect her face. There's an audible gasp at the thud her face makes when it hits the sand.

I rush over to check if she's okay. Both of them are laughing by the time I reach them. I ignore Michael and go to help Rose up. Blood is a dark crimson smear across her cheek as she wipes the sand from her mouth. "Are you okay?"

I turn to Michael with narrowed eyes, but his amusement has already disappeared, extinguished by Edward's sudden presence.

"Rose?" Edward's touch is soft as he lifts her chin, looking at the blood pooling from a cut on her lip. "You okay?"

She bats at his hand, trying to push him away. "I'm fine. We we're just having fun. Leave me alone."

"Fun's up, Rose. You can't even walk." He looks at me. "Can you get her out of here? Take her home?"

For once we agree on something. "Yeah, but I don't have a car. Is it far?"

He fishes keys out of his pocket and tosses them over to me.

Rose snatches her hand out of Edward's. "I said I'm okay." She goes to stand by Michael, clinging to his side.

Edward's hands curl into fists, the tendons in his forearms tense with anger. "You're not okay. Will you listen to me, for once? Fuck."

"She said she's okay, dude." Michael tries on a smile, but it doesn't fit well with the irritation twisting his features.

Edward ignores him, the flicker in his jaw the only sign he's biting back words. "Can you take her home? Now."

It's not a question, but it's not the time to argue with him about his attitude towards me.

The commotion has caused a ripple of unease through the revellers, and every pair of eyes are on Rose and Edward. Riley returns and places a hand on the small of my back as Edward repeats his request again.

I step away from him, a reaction to his touch, but he moves with me, directing his next words straight at Edward. "You don't have to do anything, Bella."

Edward cocks his head at us. A smile hooks at the side of his lips, pulling them into something that raises the threat already flitting around our little sideshow. "You should mind your own fucking business."

"Come on, Rose." I urge her to follow me, but she's barely registering what's happening.

I step forward, but Riley holds a hand out to stop me, and takes a step into Edward's line of sight. "You should calm down."

"I don't think so." Edward laughs, and fixes his eyes on me again. "_Please_, Bella. Get out of here. Both of you."

"Rose was already drunk before anyone got here." I don't know why I'm defending them, but at this point I'll say anything to diffuse the situation. "Just leave it, okay?"

Others start to gather around us, Edward's friends, watching and waiting. He looks at me for the first time with something other than distaste. It's a plea and another warning. "Go, Bella."

I don't get a chance to grab Rose as Riley acts first, striding up to Edward. He's taller, but only by an inch, and they're almost touching foreheads. "Don't talk to her like that."

I try to tell him to stop, but his arms are raised, pushing against Edward's chest before I can form the words.

Edward's fist smashes into Riley's face before I get a chance to blink.

Then it all goes to hell.

* * *

**AN: An early update this week, as I'm away for the weekend in an internet black hole! Thanks for reading and reviewing, I love to hear from you all.**

**Love to Kim, Choc and Cat for everything xx**


	11. Chapter 11

**~ Eleven ~**

Rose rips from my grasp and throws herself at Edward. His body switches from attack into protect mode. He traps her in his arms, and though she flails and screams, they are a steel band around her. Only his face holds the fury that must be pumping through his veins.

"Stop it, Edward. Please _stop_." Her pleas become more fractured until she's limp in his grip.

The brawl around them peters out, a few last shoves and insults traded between the two groups.

Now she's achieved a ceasefire, she finds her own fight and shoves Edward as hard as she can. It doesn't make much impact, but he gets the message and steps back. I think I hear a whispered apology, but it's lost among the wail of a siren.

My heart thunders beneath my ribs, filling my ears. Adrenaline surges under my skin. Edward searches through the dispersing crowds, and when he sees me, he starts to walk over but is stopped in his tracks by Riley, who stands in front of me, bleeding and breathless.

I try to see around him, but Edward is already gone. Attract and repel. The closer we get, the quicker we flip.

Riley hisses, touching the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, goddamn."

"Is it broken?" I lift my hand to touch the bruise beginning to glow on his cheek, but drop it when he flinches.

"No. It's fine."

Strobes of blue and red light up the beach. A patrol car pulls up on the sand. Two officers get out and talk to the small group still lingering by the dying fire. The rest of the crowd melted into the darkness at the first sight of the cops. Edward included.

The crowd is pointing in our direction.

"I'd better go and talk to them. You okay waiting here?" Riley puts his hand on my shoulder.

"I gotta get Rose home." She's sitting on the sand next to Michael, a silence as deep as the sea between them. "I'll see you later."

"Just wait for me, and I'll take you home. I need to set things straight with the cops, and then we can go."

I fish Edward's keys out of my pocket, clasping them in my hand. "I better take the car back to their house, too. She's in no state to drive."

Riley looks annoyed, but I don't back down. I want to get away from the beach and whatever the fuck just happened.

"See ya then." He doesn't smile as he walks away with Michael trailing after him, his face as battered as his friend's.

_Bloodied. Ripped. Defeated._

I walk to Rose and offer her my hand, her fingers cold as I pull her to her feet. Smudges of mascara add to the dark shadows around her eyes.

"You okay?"

"I hate him."

I don't need to ask who.

Edward's keys have warmed in my hand; I dangle them off the end of my finger so Rose can see. "Where's his car?"

She lifts her chin toward a sandy parking lot, only a few cars remaining. I guess the old, black Camero is Edward's before she leads me to it. Suits him somehow. Rusted and rough around the edges, but sleek and powerful. Cassettes are piled on the passenger seat, Edward's handwriting and doodles on the covers. I haven't seen a cassette since my dad traded in his old stereo for an upgrade. Around the same time he traded in me and my mom.

Rose swipes the tapes off the seat onto the floor, sliding into the car. Despite her anger, she keeps her feet off the brittle cases.

I adjust the seat, sliding forward.

"He hates people messing with his seat."

I smile and adjust the recline, angling his mirrors too. "Tough luck."

She laughs, and I'll scratch it as progress from the worrying silence she's sunk into.

The roar of the engine rattles my teeth as we pull out of the parking lot. She rolls the window down, and salty air swirls in, mixing with the scent of smoky leather and the faded pine tree air freshener swinging around the rear-view mirror.

"Where are we going?"

"Head down the coast road, up into the hills. I'll direct you from there," she answers, laying her head on the car door.

I let the silence accompany us until I can no longer see the wrinkling of the sea in the rear-view.

"Rose?" I wait until she looks over, sits up. "What happened tonight?"

"You mean the fight? You know as much as me."

"I mean with Edward. Why did he flip out?"

"Because he's an asshole."

"That's a given, but why does he hate them so much?"

I think I see her shrug out of the corner of my eye.

I try a different angle. "Why do you like Michael so much?"

"Because he's a chance for me."

I fight back a thousand responses that are less than supportive. She takes my hesitation as judgement.

"You don't know what it's like here, Bella. Living in this shitty town, working day in and day out and never going anywhere. Not being _able_ to leave."

I chance a glance at her, but she's turned back to the blur outside the window. "You're right. I don't know what your life is like, but there has to be other options rather than putting all your hope in some stupid guy like Michael?"

"It's not that …" She chokes out a sad little laugh. "I know I sound pathetic. I can't really explain what it's like here. I … we have a lot of responsibilities."

"So you want to leave with Michael?"

"It's not about leaving or staying. It's about having a choice."

I hear what she's not saying. It's about money.

"And Edward hates him because he doesn't agree?"

"Edward hates him because Michael's not the kind of person he wants for me. He's not good enough."

That's glaringly obvious, but there's something else underneath a brother's good intentions for his sister. And it doesn't explain his reaction to Riley.

We pull up to a house that's drowning in its garden. Even in the dark I can see plants tangling together and pushing up against its porch. Climbers have wriggled their way into the walls and crowd the windows. There are some pots clustered by the front door, blooming among the neglect, so someone is trying to keep a bit of control.

Rose leads me around the house. "I don't want to wake my Dad."

"I should get back home." I pause, nervous to meet her father when she looks so distraught and tear-stained. I can't handle another person looking at me like I'm the cause of Rose's problems.

"Don't be silly. You can stay here with me. We can sleep in Edward's place."

I turn and start to walk back to the road. There's no way.

"Bella. Hey, come on. Please stay. I'll drop you back home tomorrow." She grabs my hand and holds on to it, not letting go until I'm safely inside what, from the outside is an old garage, but now looks like Edward's bedroom.

"There are only two bedrooms in the house, and Edward likes his space. He converted it himself." She smiles, but then must remember she's supposed to be angry with him as it turns into a scowl.

"I don't think he'll want me in here." I hang back in the door as she reaches up and tugs on a light switch. It's a lot warmer than I'd expected. A double bed is pushed up against one wall. Orange crates line another, filled with old records, more cassettes, and books. There's a hi-fi with a double-recording tape deck and turntable that looks like it's seen better days.

The space is kinda messy. His stuff is everywhere, but the bed is made, and though it smells like a boy's room, it's a nice smell. Kind of like hair gel or his fabric softener, mixed with the ocean. We've trailed the smokey bonfire with us, too.

I'm surprised to see a surfboard propped in the corner. He doesn't strike me as a surfer, but then what do I know about him, really?

"What if he comes back? I really think it's better if I go home."

"If he comes back he can sleep on the porch." Rose slumps down onto a small couch, strewn with clothes. She shoves them off onto the floor. "You can sleep on the bed, if you want?"

"No." I almost shout my answer, so I try to soften and explain, "I'm okay, thanks. I'll be fine on the couch with you."

"Wake me if you need anything." Her voice is sleep-slurred and blurred at the edges. And she's taking up most of the couch.

I don't know what to do with myself, but I'm exhausted, so I sit on the edge of his bed and wait for the sun to rise. The second I see a glimpse of daylight, I will walk home.

Rose's soft snores soon lull my eyes closed, and when I can no longer keep my balance on the edge of sleep, I curl up on Edward's covers, and fall into it.

**AN: Thank you for reading. Have a fab weekend. xx**


	12. Chapter 12

**~ Twelve~**

I'm woken by soft music coming from the hi-fi. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but I leap to my feet the second I see Edward, immediately losing my balance as my blood catches up with my body. His hand shoots out and steadies me. "Whoa, be careful."

I grab his wrist to stop myself from falling back onto the bed, and he winces. I snatch my hand back. "Shit, sorry."

He puts his finger to his lips and points over at Rose, who's still dead to the world.

I murmur another apology, but he shakes his head, turning back to the stereo and switching it off. I squeeze my eyes shut until I see stars, only opening them again when they disappear. Edward looks at me like I'm crazy, and maybe I am, but it's him who makes me crazy.

"I'd better get home. Emily will be wondering where I am."

"Your sister?

"My dad's girlfriend."

"Right." He goes back to rifling through his music. Finding whatever he's looking for, he stands, his joints cracking like popcorn. I half smile and almost tell him he's as creaky as me, but then I remember we're not friends.

I grab my purse and wander over to the open door.

"Where are you going?"

I look back at him, confused, because we've already had this conversation. "Home."

"You should wait a while. It's barely six and still dark out."

It is here in his room, but outside the grey sky is swallowing up the stars, growing brighter with each one that disappears.

I'm not prepared to sit and chat to Edward after everything that's happened.

"I'll be fine." I'm out of the door and onto the road before he can say anything else.

I follow the route Rose directed, or at least I think I do. I'd been focused on her on the ride here and now the monochrome, mismatched houses—their gardens, cars and postboxes—all look the same. Or maybe they look different. Hedging a bet, I follow a road that loops around the side of a hill, presuming it'll take me down to the sea. I can work it out from there.

My heart spikes when I hear someone running, but when I step to the side to let them pass, it's not someone out for an early morning jog. It's Edward. He's gripping his side like he has a stitch, and has a sheen of sweat on his face. He wipes his forehead on his shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

"Are you all right?" Even in the dim morning, his pallor is as waxy as the moon.

He nods. "Caught a fist. Hurts more than I thought it would." He presses his fingers into his side, hissing, and I imagine the purple-blue creeping up his ribs.

"Did I forget something?"

"No … I didn't want you walking home alone. By the time I found my keys to lock Rose in, you'd disappeared."

"I don't need you to walk me home."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Oh." Embarrassment kick-starts my legs again.

"Wait, wait." He grabs my arm, stopping me. "Sorry, what I mean is, I'll take you back later. Just come back to the house. I'll make us something to eat, or drink… whatever you want."

I try not to blurt out anything tinged with my anger, but I'm finding it hard. "Edward, I don't know if this is a good idea."

"What? Coffee?"

Even in the half light I can see his full smirk.

"Look, I don't know what you remember, but the past few times we've met, you've been a total asshole. I'd rather spend my time with—"

"Me?"

I throw my hands up in the air and fight back a smile. "I'm serious, Edward. There's a lot of shit going on around here, and I don't want any part in it. I've looked after Rose twice now, and you've treated me like shit both times. I don't know why you're surprised that I don't want to spend time with you."

"I'm not. I want—"

"And what the hell was that at the beach? You started it and then left. Again."

"Look, Bella. I'm sorry."

I search his face for any crease or dimple of humor, but he's nothing but sharp edges and genuine eyes.

He continues, "I'm sorry you've got caught up in Rose's shit. She's having a hard time at the moment, and I do appreciate you helping her and being there. But it's been going on long before you arrived, and it'll still be going on when you go home at the end of summer. The other stuff, the fight … that's the same."

I feel stupid for getting involved, for caring, and I wish the sun would stop its rise and let me disappear into the darkness, or at least hide the embarrassment blossoming in my cheeks. "Okay, that's noted. I'll mind my own business."

Edward rubs his hands down his face. "That's not what I'm saying."

"It's fine. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just want to go home." I step around him and continue along the sidewalk.

"Bella, wait." Edward jogs to catch up with me. "Let's just start again, okay?" He holds out his hand. "I'm Edward. Local, handsome, occasional asshole."

He's full of mischief, but when I don't answer straight away, his smile wavers and I catch a sudden glimpse of insecurity underneath.

Perhaps I'm a glutton for punishment, or maybe I'm just a girl who can't ignore a boy who's invaded her every thought, because I take his hand.

* * *

We walk back, exchanging small talk, and now my frustrations with him are quieter, my nerves return like old friends. He leads me through the overgrown garden, and the damp morning clings to my skin as the grass brushes against my bare legs. He jumps the stairs to his door two at a time and flips the porch light on. It reveals more damage from his fight. A tear in the neck of his T-shirt. A blossoming bruise along his jaw. I feel like a stray cat, and though he's not reluctant to take me in, I hover until he opens the door and gestures for me to come inside.

The small kitchen is lit only by the glow from the porch. He doesn't turn any other lights on, presumably so as not to wake his father. I climb onto a tall stool at a breakfast table and watch as he makes a pot of coffee.

"You want some? Or there's water or Coke?"

"Water's fine."

The backlight glows around him as he leans into the refrigerator. Its door is covered in magnets. I can make out the shape of the Eiffel tower and the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pyramids, but he closes it before I can work out any others.

"You've travelled a lot?" I ask as he hands me a cold bottle.

"No. Why do you say that?"

"The magnets."

His laugh is empty. "They're from my mother."

"Oh." I don't know what else to say. It's clear there's an undercurrent and I don't want to wade into it.

"She sends stuff like this a couple of times a year. Saves her having to call." He leaves it at that, but his shoulders have tightened as he busies himself pouring his coffee.

When he comes to rest beside me, I see the knuckles of his left hand are split and caked with blood. I wince when he flexes his fingers, and he catches me. "It's fine."

"It looks painful. You should put some ice on it or something."

"We don't have any. Freezer's out."

"You could use this." I offer the bottle back to him, but he shakes his head.

"It's okay. I'll just rinse it."

Sipping on the ice-cold water, I watch him fill a bowl and bathe his hand. If I was another girl, I might offer to help. I might spread his palm out on mine, and gently tend to his cuts and bruises. I might look up at him from under my eyelashes and enjoy the thrill of being so close. But I'm not that girl, so I carry on sipping my water, and he cleans up his own wounds.

There are a thousand things I want to say, but I can't find any of the words. The more I hold back, the more distant Edward seems to become until we've settled back into an odd silence.

I get the feeling he has a lot to say too, but doesn't know if I'm the right person to burden.

As the sun burns away the night, it reveals a slice of the ocean from their kitchen window. I can imagine their mother standing and washing dishes, staring at the vast expanse of blue through the treetops, but now it's clear she's absent, it seems lonely.

"You have a great view from here." My vocabulary is censored by my shyness and the heaviness his changing mood has brought.

"Yeah." He stands with his back to it, arms folded, leaning against the sink. "Even better up on the roof."

I nod like I know. Like I'm forever climbing up onto roofs. And for a second, I almost ask him to show me, positive I'm missing out on seeing the world differently. Like, if I go up there with him, everything will seem smaller. Maybe I'll see further and perhaps understand more.

He pours himself another coffee. Its rich scent swirls around the room, and though I don't usually drink it, I agree to have one so I have something to wrap my hands around. When he passes it over, he hovers, unsure. It's so unlike the Edward I've seen so far.

"I am sorry for what I said to you the other night. I was angry, and it was wrong to take it out on you." He offers his apology carefully, like he's been holding on to it for a long time.

The humiliation is still too fresh, so I don't brush his words away with reassurances. "Thank you."

Anything else we have to say is forgotten when a loud bang and a gruff voice calls out a name.

It's not Edward's name, but he still jumps like he's been electrocuted. "Shit. I'll be back in a minute."

He's gone for a while. I consider leaving and even look around for a piece of paper to write a note. In the end, when he returns to the kitchen, I'm still here wondering who Paul is.

"Sorry about that. My dad," he adds by way of explanation. "I'll take you home now."

"You really don't need to. It's not far. I'll walk."

There's more banging and shouting. The voice is labored, and the words are slightly confused. Edward looks back down the hall, torn between making sure I get back and tending to his dad. I make the decision for him.

"I'll see you around. Thanks for the coffee."

As I close the door behind me, I glance back through the glass and watch Edward walk away. By the time I've returned to my own fractured family, I've begun to sketch a picture in my mind of who Edward is.

He is still the boy in the shadows, despite stepping out of the shade.

* * *

_**AN: Happy Halloween! Thank you for reading. **_

_**Choc, Kim, Cat and Gemma - you're top of the pops. **_


	13. Chapter 13

**~Thirteen~**

I'm thankful for the ground-floor bedroom window and my forgetfulness to lock it as I sneak back into the house. I also appreciate Emily's silence when she catches me. I climb into bed and fall asleep within seconds.

When I wake, the alarm clock tells me I've slept away half the day. The sun has heated my room, and I'm stuffy with exhaustion and the events of the past few days.

Desperate for the cool water, I make my way out onto the beach.

A rare sight greets me on the sunshine-saturated deck.

Charlie pushes his sunglasses onto the top of his head and folds his paper on the table beside him. "How are you feeling?"

It takes me a second to connect the dots; Emily's explanation for my sleeping-in is the picture revealed. "Oh … better, thanks. Maybe a bit too much sun yesterday."

"You should stay out of it today, then."

This slice of fatherly concern is unexpected yet I take it gladly. "I will. Might walk into the town, buy some gifts to take home." I silence the last words—_for mom_. On another day, I might use them as a sharp reminder, but Emily is beaming at me from her place beside my father, and I don't have it in me to use them to prick her.

"Sounds good. Have fun." He drops his sunglasses back down, tipping his head up to the sky.

I wave at them both and mouth a thank you at Emily as I walk past. My father calls out again before my feet hit the warm sand.

"There was a boy looking for you. He came to the house earlier."

"There was?" I veer between the vision of two very different guys talking to Charlie and the ramifications of each.

"He said his name was Riley. Said he met you on the bus over." Again, his delving shows a side of him I've almost forgotten.

"Yeah. He's staying at the top end of town for the summer with his family."

"He mentioned. Seems like a nice young man. I hear his parents have put a lot back into the community. His father manages of one of the biggest hedge fund companies in the U.S."

Emily swipes out at Charlie with her book, the pages fluttering as it hits his arm. "Charlie, no business."

"Sorry." He smiles, rubbing his arm, but he's already given a glimpse of the reason for his interest. "I explained you weren't feeling well. He said to tell you he'd be on the beach for the rest of the day."

Emily winks at me, and I can almost see hearts around the romantic story she's concocted in her mind. My early morning sneaking in and a handsome boy calling. I want to set her straight, but I need to choose a better time. A time when my father steps out of this strange character he's playing and slips back into his normal role of not caring. A time when he's not around.

"Thanks for letting me know."

"You should invite him over for dinner sometime." Charlie's parting words fan my growing unease.

"Maybe. See you later." I switch directions when I'm out of their sight, walking away from the ocean and onto the coast road.

I sort through the events of last night, and press pieces of my limited knowledge together to try and understand what ignited the fight. One jagged piece that doesn't fit is Riley; his attitude toward Edward and the shifts in his personality.

There's a lot I don't know, or perhaps a lot he hasn't revealed to me, and I can't help but feel that I wouldn't like what I'll find if I pried. So I walk away from an awkward encounter with him and instead play out how different my actions might have been if it was Edward who'd come looking for me.

* * *

The wind whips up foam on the ocean, and the waves pour it onto the beach. I walk along the pier with no real aim in mind, or at least I pretend there isn't. I find myself outside the arcade, staring at a closed sign.

Peering through the glass to the darkened interior doesn't answer why, on a bustling afternoon, it would be closed. So I pass the hours wandering around the gift shops before returning to the beach house and busying myself helping Emily make dinner.

Charlie is making another rare appearance, so she's pulling out all the stops. I don't bother to change out of my sundress and plan to retreat to my room at the first opportunity. Emily has laid trip wires all around the conversation, and it's only a matter of time before my father walks right into one.

His work. Their commitments. Me.

He hasn't got a chance.

The wind is lazier the next day, only blowing ripples across the surface of the ocean. I could sit with a book or go for a swim, but the sign in the arcade window hangs in the back of my mind, so I walk back to the pier.

It's still closed.

I call Rose—her phone is turned off. I talk myself out of worrying with thoughts of holidays or renovations, but still find my face pressed against the glass to see inside.

This time, a face looks back.

I jump backward and see my shock reflected at me until Edward unbolts the door and gestures for me to come inside. I babble out an explanation, red-faced at having being caught.

"I saw you were closed yesterday, too, and I just wondered if everything was okay? Oh, and I was looking for Rose." I tack that on at the end even if it's a little white lie.

"She's not in today. She's had to stay at home, and I've had a few things to sort out." He snaps the bolts back into place, cutting off the sun and noise of the pier. "I've got an appointment in town this afternoon, and there's no one else free to help look after the place, so …" He leaves me with a shrug, turning his back to me and heading to the back of the arcade. "Let me go grab some files, then I can drop you off at the house if you want to see her?"

I have to follow him to keep up with what he's saying, ending up in the office. He rummages around a filing cabinet, and I notice he's dressed differently. A pale green button-up smartens his black jeans.

"You don't have to. I'll give her another call later."

He stretches over a pile of boxes towering in the corner of the room, the muscles in his back shifting under the thin cotton of his shirt as he finds what he's looking for, lifting it down. I drag my eyes away before he turns, taking in the mess around us. I have no idea how he can locate anything. Since I was last here, it looks like a paper bomb has exploded across the small room.

"It's no problem?" He pauses and gives me his full attention. "She could do with someone to distract her actually. Maybe you could take her out somewhere? She's been cooped up with Dad and ... it's not good for her."

Edward has more sides to him than a pair of dice. It's the luck of the toss which ones I get to meet, but this side—caring for his sister—falls more often than not.

"Of course I can, but doesn't Rose have any closer friends? She doesn't know me that well and might not appreciate me turning up if she's having a bad day. Couldn't you ask them?"

He doesn't hesitate, this time. "I could. But I'm asking you."

I turn his answer around and around in my mind as I climb into his car, reading into it until it's blurred.

* * *

I wait while he loads the trunk with files and papers. The quiet air that's already full of Edward turns up the volume of my nerves. He's tidied away all the cassettes; they're tucked into the side of the door. I spot familiar names scrawled on a few and make a mental note of others to look up when I get home. When Edward joins me, I pretend to be looking out of the window. I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's the detail he puts into the artwork on the covers that makes them seem so personal or that I might embarrass myself in a conversation with him about music.

He guns the car to life and swings us out of the lot and onto the road. I instinctively put my hand out onto the dash to stop myself from being slung forward. "Are you late for your meeting?"

Relaxing back into his seat with one arm outstretched, he grins. "Sorry." His driving smooths out while he rolls down the window. The salty air blows my hair around, whipping it at my cheeks. I gather it and hold it down, aware that he's watching me instead of the road.

"So how come you're not hanging out on the beach or relaxing by a pool somewhere or whatever it is you usually do on vacation?"

"It gets a bit boring after a while." I shrug. "If it makes you feel better, I was going to buy something to take back to my mom. A souvenir."

"Ah ... that's better. I was worried for a second you were different than all the other visitors who pass through."

"Nah. I'm a regular kinda tourist."

He laughs and switches his hand on the wheel, leaning his other on the open window. His right arm is stretched taut but his fingers are loose. It's not his inadequate grip on the wheel that draws my attention. Scrawls of pen lick along the edge of his wrist. Some are faded, illegible, while others are bolder. I can't make out the words, their beginnings hidden in the soft skin over his pulse.

"Do you have a hard time remembering?"

"Huh?" He switches his attention away from the road, wavering across the white lines, spiking my heart. I yell and point back out of the windshield. He straightens up, apologizing. "You're a nervous passenger, huh?"

"Umm, no. You're a terrible driver." He smiles again, and I chalk the image of it next to the others I've drawn from him so far. Each one different. The crinkle of his eyes stand out in this last one.

I gesture to the writing on his arm. "I wondered if you've got a bad memory, so have to write things down."

He flashes the underside of his arm for a moment, so I see it _is_ a list. Short and neat. It could almost be a tattoo. "Yeah … something like that."

He doesn't offer any more, and I wish I hadn't asked. My growing comfort with Edward starts to trail away out of his open window, so I busy myself, sending a text to Emily, explaining where I am.

But the moment of awkwardness passes as he turns the radio on and spends the rest of the drive telling me about the band spilling from the speakers.

Edward pulls up onto the curb outside his house. "Come on inside. I'll tell Rose you're here."

We walk around the back of the house again. In the bright sunshine, their garden is lush chaos. My mother spends hours in hers, tending perfectly placed flower beds and ensuring no bugs are infesting her pride and joy. I've always enjoyed spending time among her roses, but there's something about this garden I love.

_Secretive. Wild. Uninhibited._

It's no more tamed around the back, but it's been trained to grow around and over the stone path Edward leads me down to the back porch.

"Hey, Dad. I've brought someone to see Rose. Her name is Bella. She's a friend." His voice has softened and slowed.

I don't see the figure sitting in the old rocking chair until Edward stands aside at the top of the steps.

I can see Edward in his eyes and Rose in the shape of his face. The fact he's sitting down doesn't disguise his height. He could very well be taller than his son.

But the woollen blanket covering his knees, the frail cut of his shoulders, the sharp edge of his jaw, and the papery thinness to his skin, are features I don't expect to see.

They're the kind that go hand in hand with tragedy.

* * *

**AN: Thank you so much for reading. See you next week.**

**Heart eyes for Choc, Kim and Cat. xx**


	14. Chapter 14

**~ Fourteen ~**

I hold a smile steady on my face, but it's tugged at by sadness.

"Bella, this is my dad. Carlisle." Edward searches my expression. I don't know what he's looking for. Pity perhaps? Judgment? I'm careful to not show either. Careful to keep focused on Carlisle's face and not the tremors that rack his body from inside. Careful not to stare at his yellow tissue-thin skin. His bird bone wrists. His fluttering breaths.

"Hi. Edward offered to drop me off to see Rose. He said she'd been in all day and could do with some company." I bite down hard on my lip, the insensitive comment already out. Neither Edward nor his dad seem to notice.

"Are you from Shelby Bay?" Carlisle's voice is remarkably strong, though he catches his breath after.

"No. I'm here for the summer with my dad and his girlfriend."

Edward adds, "They're up at McConey's old place."

I don't recognize the reference to the previous owner, but I do recognize he know's where I'm staying. I store it away to wonder about later on.

"Ah. Nice place. Best run of the beach there. Away from the pier and those monstrosities at the other end. You know, I helped to build some of them. Took months, and I hated every minute. Give me some timber and a simple style anyday. I've designed some of the older houses, too, the ones like yours. Not that one, but similar." It takes a rattled cough to find his breath this time.

"The older ones are beautiful. I guess it feels like how a beach house should? I'm not a fan of all that glass and glamour either."

"A girl after my own heart." Carlisle smiles, and I see the younger, healthier version of himself beaming back at me. A person who could have built houses. A version who can't be much older than Charlie. A dart of panic punctures my chest, and I unconsciously rub at it while Edward tells his Dad he'll be out for the rest of the afternoon and asks after Rose, who Carlisle explains is up in her room.

"I'll be back in an hour or two, Dad. Do you want to go inside?"

"No. I'm fine out here."

"Can I get you anything before I go?"

"No. You get on your way, you don't want to be late." He lifts his arm and shoos Edward away. "It was nice to meet you, Bella."

"You, too," I say as Edward bends and presses a kiss onto Carlisle's silver-white hair. The gesture stings my eyes, but I pull myself together with a blink and head into their house to find Rose.

Edward leads me through the kitchen and down the hall. The smell of baking is mixed with a harsher smell of cleaning fluid. It grows stronger at the end, next to what I guess is the living room. I see through the door that I'm wrong. The edge of a hospital-style bed is visible, out of place alongside a comfy couch and television. The more homely furniture is pushed to the side of the room.

He doesn't linger there but heads upstairs. I take in everything as we pass, the room for his father, the family photos lining the hall and rising up the stairs. I'm surprised to see a dark-haired woman, who must be their mother, in many. They look like the perfect family. Though the picture of them now is vividly different. One parent missing. The other fading away.

I have a picture next to my bed. In it, my parents are happy. Their arms around each other as we stand beside Niagara Falls, its spray glistening behind us. My hair is drenched, despite being dressed in a bright yellow raincoat. Everything about the picture is sunny and happy. Now we are the devastation after a storm.

Lost in my thoughts, I don't realize Edward has stopped until I have nowhere else to go, his chest directly in front of me as he stands a step above. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, so I twist to the side, and he drops one step down.

We're almost touching in the narrow space. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, so he clamps his lips together. He avoids looking at me, focusing at the floral wallpaper over my shoulder.

It takes him a moment to try again, by which time I'm aware of the warmth from his body and the slight hairs curling from the open neck of his shirt.

He's hesitant, like he's testing the words to find the right ones. "My dad. He's … not well." He screws up his face a little like he's made the wrong choice.

I don't know what to say, so I say the thing that everyone says, and I hate myself for it. "I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"I know. I just … it's got to be hard for you and Rose."

He shrugs, but the way his lips twist cracks a fissure in my heart. "We deal with it."

He reaches out and straightens a picture beside me, his eyes flicking to mine and away again. I'm foolish to think he was going to touch me. He's foolish to think the action hides the pain in his eyes.

He starts again. "I wanted you to know that some of the things my dad says … they're not always the truth."

I shift until I feel the wall pressing against my shoulder blades. His proximity is making me feel a little unstable. "Okay."

"He doesn't mean to. It's … things get a little confused." He reflects my movement, leaning back. The space created reveals more details. His newly trimmed stubble, the shadow of a bruise. "Like what he said before, about building houses. He never did that."

"He didn't? He seemed to know a lot about it."

"That's the thing. They're not out-and-out lies. His condition … it makes him confused, and things he remembers others doing become things he did. His brother was the builder. Dad used to help out on building sites when he was younger, but when he left school, he took over the pier."

"A little like dementia?" The image of my grandma searching through an alphabet of names until she found the right ones when Mom and I used to visit, filters into my head. It was a running joke at first. Until she couldn't even remember her own.

"A lot like that. He has some good days and some bad."

"And today was bad?"

He shakes his head, lowering his voice. "Today he's talking."

_I'm sorry_ bubbles to my lips again, but I burst it. Instead, I reach out and wrap my fingers around his arm, squeezing. His skin barely warms my palm before I draw back, conscious I've stepped over the line, but Edward dips his head closer. His voice is stretched thin. "Sometimes the fact he doesn't always know who I am seems like a small price to pay to still have him here."

I don't know what I can do or say to hold this boy together, and I don't get the chance to try as Rose shouts down from upstairs.

"Edward, is that you?"

"Yeah, and Bella."

"Bella?" She sounds surprised but not unhappy, so I leave my worry at being an unexpected visitor on the stairs.

We find her sitting at a desk in her bedroom, her laptop open. Edward stands aside and lets me enter, leaning against the doorjamb. "Thought you could use some company, and Bella was at a loose end." He slaps the wood with his hand and stands up straight. "Right, gotta go. I'll catch you both later."

"Good luck. Don't worry about Dad's prescription. I'll get it when I pick up the groceries."

"Thanks. Don't have too much fun, you two." He winks at me before he disappears back onto the landing, pulling his walls back up around him.

* * *

Somewhere between the cereal and bread aisles, Rose tells me the story of the Cullens.

How Carlisle and Esme were teenage sweethearts.

How he loved her too much.

How it wasn't enough.

Then she tells me about his new love. The one he used to forget the old one. Only this love wasn't kinder. It was cruel. It took until there was nothing more to give. Nothing left of the old Carlisle. Which is perhaps what he wanted. Whiskey-flavored heart failure. Memories drowned in liquor.

I push the cart, and Rose fills it up with groceries while she talks. By the time we're at the checkout, she seems a little lighter, and I hope I've helped her carry some of her worries, even if only for a short while. Talk turns to the upcoming celebrations. Fourth of July. Busiest weekend of the year.

"Edward's stressing because we can't miss out on the revenue, but we don't have the money to pay for extra staff." Rose fills the conveyor belt, piling cans precariously close to the edge.

The thought of fireworks takes me back to the first time I ever spoke to Edward. I flutter at the memory, wondering if I'll get to see him cast in their colors again. "Will you both be working all weekend?"

"It depends how dad is. Hopefully we can have it open for the majority of the weekend. We usually we can call in favors from our friends, but they all have their own stuff, you know? We can't always rely on them." She shrugs and turns to pay, striking up a conversation with the cashier. I don't miss when the pretty redhead asks about Edward or the way my stomach twists at the thought of him. Of him with her.

It incites the next words from my mouth. "I could always help you out if you're really stuck?"

"You're on vacation, Bella. You don't want to be working," Rose scolds as she divides the bags between us, and we step outside into the bright sunshine.

"I don't mind. I've considered the other options, and they're not so great either." I laugh as I search for my sunglasses and pull them on to cut off the glare. "I've had my fill of awkward nights spent with Charlie and Emily for now." I could seek out Riley, but I won't. I'd rather watch the fireworks alone.

"Thanks for offering. I'll mention it to Edward, but I'm sure we won't need you."

I'm already disappointed by the thought.

* * *

By the time I get back to the beach house, the sun has dipped itself into the ocean to cool off. Charlie is illuminated by the glow of his laptop. He tells me Emily has gone for a nap.

I'm about to make my own excuses to leave, but the fading image of Edward's dad has affected me more than I'd like to admit. I see the salt peppered in my own father's hair, the time-worn creases that line his still-handsome face, and worry kneads at my heart. Its knuckles press hard under my ribs.

Perhaps my father's workaholic tendencies are _my_ small price to pay to still have him here.

I do excuse myself, but back in my room, I throw on an old hoodie and then find the old pack of cards I always carry with me and stuff them in the pocket.

Charlie looks surprised to see me again, and I brace myself for rejection. But when I pull out the deck, worn through with shared memories, and ask him to play, his smile isn't hesitant at all.

* * *

_AN: Thank you so much for reading. You're all awesome._

_Love and hugs to Choc, Kim, Cat and Gemma for their never-ending help. xx_


	15. Chapter 15

**~ Fifteen ~**

Turns out they did need a hand. Or, at least, that's what Edward says.

He throws a black T-shirt over to me. "Sorry it's too big, but it's the last one, unless you want to borrow one of Rose's?"

"This is fine." I pull it on over my tank top, but it falls below the hem of my cut-offs, making me look half naked, so I tuck one edge into my waistband.

"Suits you." He grins at me over his shoulder as he crouches, twisting the lock of a safe.

The roll of my eyes is lost as he turns back to the combination, and thankfully, he misses the pink on my cheeks, too.

"I thought I'd show you around first, then I can explain the tokens and paperwork stuff after."

He stands and hands me a bag of coins, balancing another two in one hand. "I need to fill some of the machines, too."

"Okay, you lead the way." I step to the side, and he heads out the door, pausing beside me.

"Thanks for helping us out." He offers a quiet smile, and it crashes against my pulse. No matter how much time I spend in his company, it doesn't lessen his ability to throw my vital signs into chaos.

"No problem."

"It's easier to show you the ropes on a quieter day. Didn't want to throw you in the deep end. It won't take long."

"It's fine. I don't have any plans."

He looks like he doesn't believe me but leads me out into the arcade, over to a bank of slot machines. "You don't need to worry about most of the games—they run themselves. Just keep an eye out for anyone that looks suspicious when you're out on the floor."

"Suspicious, as in …"

He retrieves a bunch of keys from his pocket, and finding the right one, opens the front cover and starts to empty the money into it. I have to strain to hear his voice over the rattle of tumbling coins. "Yeah, you know, kids trying to scam us. Little old ladies spending way too much time on the penny slots."

"You get a lot of silver bandits in here?"

He laughs at my lame joke, standing and moving onto the next machine. "They're the worst. You forget they have time to watch and wait. There's a couple of regulars who like to come and hang around until the machines are stuffed with coins and they know they're going to drop the jackpot."

I hand over my bag and he finishes up. "You're making this up."

"Just you wait and see."

I find myself slipping into this role effortlessly, making it easy to forget I'm only visiting. He shows me around the sports games, the air hockey tables glowing blue, the basketball hoops flickering above my head. He pauses at the penny machines. "Watch the kids on this one. They like to shove it to try and knock the coins off, or the more sophisticated little shits play using coins on strings."

"How do they think of this stuff?"

"I think it's handed down, generation to generation." He's teasing me, his tongue peeking through his teeth.

Before we leave the dark blue glow of the corners, he stops, and I almost walk into his back. "One more thing. Sometimes you might find people taking advantage of the dark corners. You wouldn't believe how many times I've had to politely ask people to … stop and get a room."

I gape at him, snapping my mouth shut when his eyes flit to it. "I clearly had a sheltered childhood."

"I'm sure you didn't." I think he wants me to tell him about myself, but my mind is too full of kissing in the shadows to pick up on his cue. "Anyway, so now you can spot who's up to no good."

"I bet you were the worst culprit." It slips out, and I can't decide whether I mean the hustling or the kissing.

His eyes glitter with the lights from the bank of games. "Maybe."

He finishes the tour, and we return to the ticket booth. "Rose'll be here soon to show you how to use the cash register. You wanna get a drink while you wait? I've got some stuff to do in the back."

"Oh, sure." I look over to the sunlit doors. "I'll just grab my purse."

"No, no. Here, come with me." Edward shows me over to a small cafe area I hadn't spotted before. It's tucked around the side of a row of grab games. The ones you never win, no matter how precise your aim is. "Grab a seat. You want anything in particular?" He gestures over to the soda fountain.

"Dr Pepper's good."

I slide into a dimly lit booth and see the faint outline of a screen under the glass of the table and the unmistakable yellow Pac-Man. Edward brings my drink over and sits down opposite me, squeezing the lid off his own drink. Taking a swig, he crunches ice between his teeth.

"Does this work?" I point down at the tabletop.

"Uh-huh." He nods, his mouth full and ducks under the table. I'm conscious of my bare legs so close to his face, and I shift them back slightly. He flicks a switch, and the game sputters to life, illuminating his grin and my amazement.

"This is unbelievable."

"Yeah, my dad searched reclamation yards and auctions for the classic games and fitted them into the booths. He and his brother, my Uncle Paul, made them. The kids love them, and they're free. Plus, it gives people a reason to buy soda and fries. You want a game?" He speaks fast, skimming the pain that must come with mentioning his dad so full of life.

I jump at the chance to play against him, my competitive streak fizzing like the cherry bubbles in my mouth. "Are you sure? I'm pretty good at it."

He grins and taps the glass. I look down and see his name flashing alongside the top score.

My returning smile is full of challenge.

* * *

Rose and I sit on the edge of the pier, our bare feet dangling high over the water. My head is full of pricing and cash registers. Rose offers me a chip. "You sure you don't want any?"

I scrunch up the packaging from my sandwich, brushing the crumbs off my knees. "Nope. I'm good. Shouldn't we go back in? Edward said he had an errand to run."

"Just five more minutes. Have you seen these?" she asks, pointing to faintest shadows circling her eyes. "I'm starting to look like a zombie." She tips her head back to the vast summer-blue sky.

"You look great, don't be silly." I close my eyes and let the heat press against my skin.

Five minutes is stretched until Edward yells over at us. "Rose, I gotta go."

We both jump at the sound of his voice, scrambling to our feet and rushing back. "Shit. Sorry, E." Rose takes a set of keys from him and heads inside.

"We lost track of time," I explain, and repeat Rose's apology. Everything comes into sharp focus when he brushes it away with a smile. I hover, searching for a valid reason to spend a few more seconds with him. The draw to him is growing stronger and becoming impossible to ignore. "Is there anything you need me to do this afternoon?"

"No, I think we've got it covered."

"Oh … I … Okay." Disappointment colors me deeper than the sunshine.

"Maybe check with Rose before you go, in case there's anything she still needs to show you."

"Okay. See you later."

I don't know why I'd rather spend time in a dark arcade than out in the bright sunshine and fresh air. Maybe it's because Edward is easier to breathe.

* * *

I'm sorting through invoices when Rose pokes her head around the door. "Bella, would you mind sitting out front for a bit?"

"Yeah, sure. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah … Michael's here."

I conceal the way my face wants to crease in distaste with a smile. "Oh yeah, sure. Go ahead." My voice is a pitch too high, and it flares guilt in Rose. She starts to backpedal.

"I won't be long, but I can tell him to go, and I'll see him later ... It's no big deal."

"Honestly, it's fine." I squeeze her hand when I walk over, for extra reassurance.

Rose beams and throws her arms around me. "Thanks, Bella. You're a star."

The arcade is so busy it only seems like minutes before Rose returns, owning every inch of her name. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips stung with kisses.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be that long." She bustles into the ticket booth, dropping her purse on the floor.

"You weren't. Don't worry." I serve a shy kid, his baseball cap pulled down low, hiding his eyes, and then spin the stool to face Rose. "Things okay?"

"Yeah. He was just passing and wanted to say hi." She's trying to tone down the happiness shining from her face, but even in the dim of the arcade, she's a spotlight.

"Does he come in here often?" I can't imagine him as a regular. Especially not with Edward in charge of the joint.

"No, are you kidding?" Rose's voice hooks into hysterical at the end. "Edward would flip out."

"Yeah, I did wonder." My laughter is edged with nerves. I don't imagine he'll be any happier to find out Michael was here when he wasn't.

"He was at the cafe across the pier and saw Edward leave, so …"

"He jumped at the chance?" I can't help the negative notes in my question.

"He's not as bad as you think, you know."

"I don't know him at all, really. It's just after everything that happened that night …" I shrug.

Michael's disgusting comments at the card table play in mind, but I don't repeat them to Rose. I don't feel I can when she's so high up in the clouds, but those boys are nothing to me, and Rose is becoming a friend, even if it is only a summer fling. I'll have to be the storm that causes her to fall eventually. Just not today.

"That was ... it was just a misunderstanding." Rose hops up onto the counter, trapping her hands under her thighs. "We'd been having a bit of trouble, and he was upset. So was I." She picks up a leaflet and folds it over and over. "We've always been … argumentative. It comes with our territory."

"Oh, I thought you guys just met?"

Her eyebrows pull together and she pauses in her origami. "What made you think that?"

"Something Riley said. That you'd gotten together after some event down at the marina?"

"That asshole." She shakes her head. "He's full of shit. I've known Michael for years."

"You have?" I don't hide my shock this time, scratching another black mark against Riley.

"Yeah … seriously, since I was about ten? Edward was a little older." She throws the crumpled paper into a trash can. " We kinda grew up together. At least, our summers."

Every little bit of information I've collected about Edward, Rose, and the rich boys explodes out of its current picture. Shards stick in my skin. Riley's hateful words. The fight. Edward's anger. "How did it end so messed up?"

"It's a long story, but Edward and Michael were good friends. We used to hang out whenever we could or when Edward would let me." She rolls her eyes. "You know, then it didn't matter who lived where or whose parents did what."

I've already experienced the rich boys' views of the locals, which makes my next question redundant. But I want to know more. "And it does now?"

"My mom left when Edward was fifteen, I was twelve, and my dad … well, you know what happened there, and then the next summer, Riley's parents bought their house." She screws her nose up, and her pretty lips twist into a sneer. "Riley … he's always had a problem with us. He thinks we're trash, though he'd never say. Anyway, my dad made a lot of bad business decisions ... actually, he didn't make any at all." Rose picks up another leaflet and jumps down off the side, flipping the brighter light on over our heads. She holds out the sheet of paper for me to see. It's a map of the town, handdrawn and colorful. "You see from the pier here, all down to the start of the houses this side of the boardwalk?" Her finger traces a line across the intricate design. "Our family owned all of it."

"Now, we own this." She waves at the roof over our head. "Riley's father owns the rest, and he's a shrewd businessman. My dad … not so much. He bargained hard for a good deal, which was a _bad_ deal for us."

My hand inches its way over my mouth. I hold it there to stop the curses building from pouring out. I've been so blind to Riley's true personality, taken in by his picture-perfect cover. As I get deeper into his story, my instincts hum with a warning. Their alarm sounds in my heart. I was wrong about him.

"You lost a lot." It's a statement more than a question.

"I guess you could say _everything_."

She doesn't say any more, as we're interrupted by a customer. Rose flicks the light back off, and her glow disappears with it.

I dug too deep and have snuffed out her light. No matter how hard it might be, I have to try to reignite it, because we're both scared of the dark.

* * *

**AN: Thank you so much for reading. I'm away on holiday for the next few weeks so the next update will be a week next Friday. See you then! xx**


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